


This Photograph is Proof

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Infidelity, Light Bondage, M/M, Sex Toys, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard when you think you know who you are and one tiny thing - or a million of them - turn your world upside down. It's hard when your life is going in one direction and one simple act turns it so completely and utterly around that your not sure you were even living to begin with.</p><p>This is what Harry is for Zayn.</p><p>This is what Harry is for Liam.</p><p>Or maybe, with Harry, they start living again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> angst, hurt, owies, infidelity, artist!zayn, whimsical!harold, established relationship (zayn/liam) |  
> beta'd by the awesomesauce **snuffleslove** who is one of the very best people ever. xo | zayn/liam, zayn/harry, harry/liam, liam/harry/zayn

_You see, it's never bad enough to just leave or give up._   
_But, it’s never good enough to feel right..._

It's hard when you think you know who you are and one tiny thing - or a million of them - turn your world upside down. It's hard when your life is going in one direction and one simple act turns it so completely and utterly around that you’re not sure you were even living to begin with.

This is what Harry is for Zayn.

This thing. This moment that makes everything else fade into the background and it takes him completely by surprise - but then again, no, because everything happens for a reason, doesn't it?

This is what Zayn tells himself as he sits at their table and watches as his whole world burns and the ashes lie thick on the ground.

. . .

It's a Saturday and Zayn is at the park around the corner from their home - the one with the really great trees that have these huge branches and a family of squirrels that Zayn can't bring himself to hate for the vermin they are. Well, according to Niall they are, considering he got chased by them one afternoon after they'd finished a game of sevens and were mostly lying about on the grass just trying to get their lungs to breathe again. Zayn still thinks they were actually chasing Niall because he took their nuts or food. Niall and food are synonymous, really.

So he's there and it's autumn and the leaves are turning and it's beautiful and Zayn is just mucking around with his camera. He's not really paying attention to what he's taking photos of but is more concerned with shutter speed and ISO and a bunch of stuff he never really talks about because people tend to zone out when he does. It has happened so often that he doesn't even think about words for the perfect ratio of light to dark anymore himself. The trees are perfect, though, these shades of flame red and burnt orange and a few, these perfect few, that are just so green it's like they've forgotten spring and summer have passed and it's their time to change and call autumn in. He's probably paying too much attention to the green, really, so he doesn't notice when he starts taking photos of green eyes instead.

These big, wide green eyes that are staring straight back through Zayn's lens and it's like they are staring straight into Zayn's eyes and he shudders, feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He blinks and drops the camera from his eyes and realises that the boy with the eyes of chartreuse also happens to be a meter away from him. The other boy smiles and waves a little awkwardly, and as Zayn raises his hand to wave back the boy’s smile deepens and dimples are on show. He steps forward and Zayn does too, and it's like they're being pulled together by an unseen string or something because Zayn doesn't _talk_ to strangers - doesn't really talk with people in general, definitely doesn't start photographing them by accident, ever.

"Sorry," he says when the boy is close and Zayn can see he was wrong about the boy’s eyes - they're not really chartreuse. They’re more a mix of lime and forest green with hints of gold and even a few squares of amber right close to the raven black of his pupils, and maybe Zayn is standing too close. He shouldn't be able to see all the things he's seeing, but he can't help watching as his feet move and he is closer still.

The boy shrugs and blinks and Zayn thinks, okay, this is good, because this boy’s eyes are making him forget why he was here and what he was doing.

"You take photos, yeah?" the boy says, and Zayn tilts his head to the side a little - not enough to be rude, but, really?

Rose tints the apples of the boy’s cheeks and Zayn wonders if he pinks up like that a lot or just when wanky, pretentious photographers are taking the piss with a shift of their shoulders alone.

"I mean, I can see you're taking photos. I just - do you do it a lot?" The boy rushes with his words and Zayn thinks long and hard about each of them.

He must take too long or something because the boy starts shifting his hands rapidly in front of him and Zayn's watched enough Songs of Praise on a Sunday to know that he's signing, and - what?

"I'm not deaf," Zayn says, his voice thick and gravelly with disuse seeing as their house has been empty for a week and a half now. Today is the first time Zayn's felt like leaving the warmth of four walls and a roof above his head.

The boy flushes further and the rose - definitely blooming into a darker shade of red now - travels from his cheeks down his neck and disappears under the thin, stretched white cotton of the boy’s shirt. Zayn blinks and stares harder at the tips of something gray that poke out just below this boy’s delicious-looking collarbones and he wonders if they're birds. If they're like the swallows he inked himself along his right hand. Birds that are in constant flight yet unable to move an inch even as they try.

"Oh, sorry. I mean, wow. Just let me start again," he stammers, and Zayn bites his lip because it's endearing and it's been such a long time since he's made anyone nervous without trying. It's sweet, really, that he's barely said a word - three, in fact - and this boy is on edge.

"Hi, I'm Harry and I've been watching you the last couple of months here at the park with your camera and it looks really expensive so I thought maybe you were a professional of sorts or a student and, well, I'm inquisitive?" His ramble finishes on a high that makes it sound like a question. Zayn laughs, softly and not too much because he doesn't want to embarrass this boy further.

"Sorry, that sounds like stalking and I'm not. Well, not really, it's just you've been gone for a while and I wondered if you'd moved or taken to visiting another part of the park I hadn't been to? Well, I just really am curious, I suppose." The boy - Harry - licks over his lips with a pert pink tongue. Zayn realizes that he's thought about nothing but colour with this boy since he spotted him through the lens, and that - well, that hasn't happened in a long time. Three years, even. Three years, five months, and fourteen days, to be exact.

Zayn shakes his head, fiddles with the lens cap between finger and thumb. "No, just - busy, I guess," is what he says, when _"You noticed me?"_ and _"Not gone, just not able to function"_ are other conversations that play out in his mind.

"Right, right," Harry says, and he drops his eyes from Zayn's to stare avidly at the ground below where a blend of leaves in all their rotting finality stretches out in a thick carpet bed underfoot.

Zayn's fingers itch to take a photo, to capture the unearthly white of Harry's trainers against the brown and yellowed hues at their feet, but he manages to hold out. Just.

The silence stretches between them but Zayn doesn’t really notice; he’s too entranced by the red stitching around Harry's shoes and trying to pick where on the colour wheel of crimson they fit. Worst thing he ever did was find Crayola had a webpage with the names of every single colour ever labelled on it. Though it did make for interesting internal monologue at times such as this, times when Zayn had to try and fake being social. Had to force himself to speak outwardly and not just in the empty halls of his head.

He clears his throat and Harry looks up, those grassy green eyes of his catching a rare ray of sun as the leaves move in the breeze above them, and no - they're apple now. Granny Smith.

"I guess - I guess I should leave you to it," Harry says, and his smile isn't wide now. Isn't showing two rows of ivory whites that could be in a bloody Colgate commercial that Zayn would shoot except he doesn't _do_ that any more.

Harry turns and Zayn watches as he slouches down, making himself small. He's knock-kneed or pigeon-toed or something, from the way his toes turn in, the swagger to his step. Zayn finds himself smiling at the way this boy walks; his face aches and Zayn thinks this could be good.

"Would you like to see?" he asks, and it's huge, this. Big. Zayn doesn't share his work lightly with anyone.

Harry stops and turns and his eyes are wide and there's something like shock or awe in his stare. "Really?"

Zayn nods and holds the camera out and Harry hurries back, nearly tripping on a loose shoelace. Harry steps close, though, doesn't take the camera from Zayn's hand but stands beside him instead. He's caramels and flour and a little bit like burnt toast, and Zayn wonders if this boy - this "Harry" - stepped out of a novel or something, because no one can smell like Zayn's always thought Wonka's would.

Harry doesn't say a word as Zayn flips through the staggering number of shots he has on the sixteen-gig memory card that's almost full. Zayn doesn't speak either, just cites cities or times and dates that mean nothing to Harry but he nods and “hmm”s all the same. Like he's interested. Like he cares.

They fall to the ground eventually, walking back a bit until the trunk of a tree is at their backs and the leaves are cold and wet under their jean-clad thighs, but neither of them mentions it. They flip through every photo Zayn has; the afternoon turns dark and Zayn only realises this when they get to the last photo - or nearly last. He catches a face in the screen and flips the switch to "camera" playback mode just in time, he hopes.

"It's dark," Harry says, and Zayn laughs. Harry is apparently good at labelling what's directly in front of him.

"I know, Captain Obvious here," Harry says, and Zayn smiles again and thinks how this is possibly the best time he's had with another human in weeks and Harry's barely said a word. Zayn's said even less and Harry’s still hung around, so Zayn counts that as a win.

"Come back to mine?" he asks without thinking about the implications. He just knows how warm Harry is pressed against his side, the lines of their bodies matching up, so Zayn wonders if without clothes they'd just melt together eventually. He knows that Harry's breathing hitched when the last frame came up and he wonders just how _long_ Harry's been watching. Looking. Wanting to speak and never saying a word.

Until today.

"I've got - I've got more and I don't want to say goodbye yet," Zayn adds, and he finds himself stuttering, wishing he could say it louder, mean it more clearly.

_Use your words, Zayn,_ he can hear his mother say, and he feels five and awful because Danny took his favourite toy and wouldn't give it back and Zayn sat on the floor and cried about it instead of just ripping it out of Danny’s hands or asking instead.

"You never said hello," Harry says, and it's not that he's being mean or anything, just pointing it out.

"Please?" Zayn asks, and Harry nods, and even in the dark Zayn knows he's blushing and maybe Zayn will learn just how far down Harry's chest that goes.

How easy would it be to see what other parts of his body flush that shade or darker when he's close to losing all control.

"Okay," Harry says, and his fingers slide into the spaces of Zayn's where his hand has lain just shy of being on Harry's thigh.

Zayn turns his head and Harry shifts and he can feel Harry breathing, smell something new like cinnamon on Harry's breath, and yeah - he leans in and tastes it on Harry's tongue.

"Not this time," Harry says when they pull apart, and Zayn feels like Harry has sucked the air out of his lungs.

Harry’s thumb and forefinger grasp Zayn's chin and Zayn has to look up. It's too dark to see those green eyes of Harry's. Zayn thinks they'd look like the seaweed that washed up on shore when he was ten and he heard about this boy drowning, and Zayn didn't know how to swim. Still doesn't.

"Tomorrow, though," he says, and Zayn presses his lips to Harry's and tastes something new now, a promise.

"Tomorrow," he repeats, and he feels Harry's smile against his lips.

When he and Harry eventually part ways the moon has risen and they're nearly frozen to the ground. It's only on his way back to the flat that he realises he never told Harry his name.

And Harry never asked.


	2. Chapter 2

_To follow your instincts_   
_never worked well for me_

 

The next morning Zayn wakes on the sofa and the first thing he sees is his camera. In an instant his mind is flying in a whirl of colour back to yesterday. The park. The leaves all mustard, sienna, and verdant hues. White and red and a blush so pretty there wasn’t a name for the shade it turned.

  
Warm brown curls and dimples with cinnamon and a toffee-tasting tongue and—  
Harry.

  
Harry who he gave his address to, and Harry who he didn’t even tell his name but is coming over today. Sometime.

  
Zayn pulls his legs out and onto the cold wooden floor, shifts the knitted throw, which they’d picked up from some relative or another when he and Liam had moved, to the side. He lifts his arms above his head, links his fingers together, and pushes his hands out with a long yawn. The sofa is probably the most uncomfortable thing in this house to sleep on, but there was no way he was going to curl up in that bed alone. It was bad enough that the house felt empty. No chuckles at stupid sitcoms on the telly. No smell of coffee coming from the kitchen at all hours as Liam researches this and writes notes for that and all the things he’s always done because he loves his job teaching music. There’s no music, either. No warm, velvety tones of Frank or Ella from the secondhand record player Zayn had worked to near exhaustion amid final year classes to buy Liam for Christmas.

  
It’s weird how silent it is. Zayn’s never noticed how silent he is on his own.

  
Things like making a brew sound obscenely loud. The kettle hissing steam before it finally whistles is like the Hogwarts Express leaving Kings Cross Station. The way he stirs one sugar into his mug sounds like he’s banging a gong everytime it hits the sides. The toaster popping shakes his brain inside his head, and - well, no wonder he hasn’t been eating much here lately. But today is different. Today Harry’s promised to drop by. Zayn knows he shouldn’t want this as much as he does. He has a Liam. Had a Liam. Might still.

But Harry is bright and brash and Zayn has hopes that he’ll fill the quiet spaces Liam’s stolen the warmth from. Just for a minute. Or a however long until Liam decides to come home or talk or just let Zayn know he’s alive.

  
Zayn’s still surprised by the knock on the door. It seems to wake the whole house up with the three loud raps of a fist on wood. He knocks his tea, spilling a small circle or two onto the bright yellow cloth placemat and it soaks it up quickly - a brown stain on something perfect. In Zayn’s mind he can hear Liam grumble and Zayn stands quickly to rinse it out, then realises he doesn’t have to. Liam hasn’t lived here in over a week, nearly two. Liam who never leaves - _never_ \- just packed a bag and headed out and hasn’t called. Liam doesn’t _leave_.

  
It scares Zayn that Liam may never come back to call this place home.

  
The knocking comes again, sharp to Zayn’s ears, and he shakes his head, checks his hair in the mirrored surface of the microwave, and heads down the hall. He looks all right. Knows he looks all right even though he’s been awake a mere hour now and he’s still in his soft pyjama bottoms and a scraggly cream knit jumper that’s far too big so it’s probably Matt’s or Aiden’s. They’re always leaving something when they pop over, and they haven’t been over in a while.

  
When he opens the door, Harry’s there. Harry with his chocolatey curls tucked under a bright pink beanie - more rose or even a dulled fuschia. It makes the colour of his eyes stand out: fern green today, wet with summer rain. Harry smiles and leans in a little, hands in his black peacoat pockets, slate-grey scarf wrapped around and around his neck. Zayn wants to unwrap him like a present.

  
“Hi,” Harry says, biting white into wind-chapped ruby lips, and Zayn - Zayn wants to skip the greetings and get to the part where he can lick words and sentences from Harry’s tongue.

  
He blinks and reminds himself that he’s not supposed to think like that, even though Harry is _here_ for that. Maybe.

"Can I come in?" Harry asks, eyes big and brows drawn up. He looks a little lost with his question, timid even, and Zayn feels that same almost starstruck feeling as he did the day before.

“Zayn Malik,” he blurts out, remembering somehow in this fog of emotion from just _seeing_ Harry on his doorstep that he never did tell Harry his name, even though Harry told Zayn his.

Harry quirks his head to the side, one dimple deepening in his cheek. “Zayn Malik?” he repeats, and _oh god_ , Zayn can feel his cheeks heating.

“Me - I’m, um - I’m Zayn. Malik.” He fiddles with the cuff of his jumper, pokes his thumb through the hole that Aiden’s always making when he can’t find his gloves. This is ridiculous. He’s stuttering like he did in school; his mother paid a disgusting amount of money to get him out of it and now he can’t get words to join together at all, _just_ because of Harry. Zayn’s cheeks and chest feel warm now and this is such a bad idea. Inviting Harry to their house - _his_ house, it feels like. He shouldn’t have invited Harry around at _all_ , and now he’s here and he looks so . . . and Zayn _wants_ more than anything.

Harry smiles properly then and his hand leaves his pocket to brush at the red tip of his nose. “Right, Zayn. I guess I forgot to ask you that last night. Was a bit preoccupied.” Harry licks over his lips in this obscene manner - well, maybe it’s just obscene to Zayn but it ties his tongue in knots and there’s no way he’s going to be able to speak in the next five to ten minutes. Maybe longer.

His brain is sending out warning signals - his chest is tight and he may pass out if he doesn’t start breathing properly soon. It’s completely at war with the part of him that _wants_ Harry - wants his perfect lips and his cinnamon-pastry taste and those large _hands_ of his on Zayn’s body. He also knows he shouldn’t be thinking about these things - should definitely not be inviting them into his house and into his life when he’s got . . . .

When he _had_ a thing with Liam. He doesn’t “have” a “thing” with Liam anymore. Liam left. Liam said things and Zayn said things and words cut deep and then Liam _left._

And Harry. Harry makes him _feel_ , and Zayn’s been cold - so _cold_ for so long.

"Zayn?" Harry reaches out, his fingers cold like ice on Zayn's wrist, and it's enough to make Zayn jump, his lashes fluttering to bring Harry into focus.

He manages a wry grin. "Sorry - I, um - come in," he finally manages. He moves back, opening the door further. He berates himself softly as Harry walks over the threshold, head turning this way and that as he takes in the art on the walls. Photos of Zayns and bits of this and that that Liam and Zayn have picked up over their time together.

He wonders for a second whether Liam will come back for any of it. Whether he’ll want the black and white of the view from their villa in the south of France that Zayn took on their second anniversary. The Jackson Pollock Blue Poles print that’s more a photocopy of a photo of the painting, but they both _love_ Pollock’s work so it became part of their collection. Will Liam want anything that reminds him of what they had? Will Zayn end up living in a flat full of memories, and memories alone?

“'s nice.” Harry’s voice brings Zayn out of his reverie yet again and he shuts the door and follows Harry as he turns the corner into the living room. He takes off his beanie, unwraps his scarf next, and and piles them on top of his black jacket on the solitary wingback chair. He stares at one particular frame, a small one of Zayn's family when he was young. Harry's broad back stretches his crisp white button-down tight as he leans in closer to look.

“Thanks,” Zayn says in return, leaning against the arched entryway. He watches Harry turn and inspect the walls, the bookcase, run a finger over the spines of books like he’s reading Braille. Then he casts his eyes down over the giant square coffee table they have, piled with books on art and photography and three different cameras Zayn’s been fiddling with, the development process changing how one image can look from each. There are mugs of tea housing various states of mould growth - he _really_ should have cleaned up a little.

“Sorry,” Zayn says, picking up the mugs, juggling them on top of each other and rushing through the swing door into the kitchen. He dumps them all in the sink and hurries back to find Harry sitting on the sofa, feet up on the newly cleared patch of table top and he looks . . .

. . . He looks like he belongs there.

Zayn pushes away the thought that that’s where Liam always sat and he stares at Harry for probably a beat too long. Harry grins and pats the seat beside him twice, and Zayn lets the action call him in. His feet move without thought and he’s settled beside Harry before he can wonder if it’s a good idea.

Harry turns and faces him; one knee is bent on the sofa and he’s leaning into one of the plumpest cushions they have, just staring at Zayn with a half-smile. It brings out one of his dimples and a flash of perfect pearly white. Zayn has to blink because everything with Harry seems to be in high definition. There’s just so _much_ colour and it’s enough to make Zayn squint a little. He considers turning the blinds so the light is a little more diffused, but that would be ridiculous.

Plus he really doesn’t want to tone Harry down. Not at all.

“So,” Harry starts, and Zayn echoes with a soft _”So”_ himself.

Harry smiles wider, breathing out a sort of huffed laugh through his nose, and Zayn has to look down at where his hands are joined together in his lap. He really is _bad_ at small talk, generally. It took him four months to work up the courage to just answer Liam back when they’d first got to know each other. The resulting smile from Liam when Zayn had muttered a simple ”You’re welcome” when he’d given Liam the books he’d taken out at the library where Zayn worked some weekends was enough to make him think a little effort on his part might be worth while. But that was _such_ a long time ago, and after he’d worked out that issue with Liam there was no need to worry about engaging strangers in discussion. He had his Liam and their handful of friends, so why bother?

But now there’s Harry. Harry who is still staring at him with those eyes and the highlights of gold and burnt umber in his brown curls, and Zayn just _wants_. He wants to be better at this. Wants to be able to question and answer and converse like normal, but Harry steals all his words with a touch of his fingers on Zayn’s skin.

Zayn stares at the two fingers Harry’s placed on his wrist, his touch light and soft. His fingernails have tiny remnants of colour toward the obviously bitten-down cuticles.

There’s black and maybe a deep plum. Zayn wonders if they’re only there because he was in a rush to take it off, or was it something Zayn missed the night before? Then again, he was rather focused on Harry’s face and nothing more.

“Hey.” Harry’s voice breaks into Zayn’s ponderings, all syrupy slow and sweet. “This is okay, yeah?”

Zayn nods because he can’t speak. Can’t say that he’s having second thoughts just because of having Harry sit on their sofa in the spot that Zayn usually finds himself in, always to Liam’s left so he can scratch down ideas on a sketchpad while they curl up, feet entwined most of the time and the snuggle-rug draped over their legs. It’s always cold in the flat. Or maybe that’s just the way it’s felt in the last few months, Liam’s distance eating away at any form of heat that once lay between them. Zayn’s inability to speak up and ask about it pulls the warmth from his bones until he aches every time he moves.

“We can just talk, you know. I didn’t come here to - I don’t expect anything,” Harry finishes softly, and his fingers twitch a little - the slightest flinch but Zayn feels it. Feels it more than he’s felt anything in such a long time and he knows - _knows_ \- whatever this is with Harry is right.

“S-s-sorry,” Zayn stutters, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and clamping down just a little to stop it. He hasn’t done this in forever, yet with Harry he can’t help stumbling over his words. Over the simple pronunciation of one.

His face heats and he ducks his head down further into his chest, looking up only when he feels Harry’s fingers encircle his wrist, forcing his hand between where Zayn has his own locked so tight. Harry’s long fingers separate Zayn’s own and then he’s just squeezing lightly and Zayn’s overwhelmed.

“Why don’t you show me those pictures you talked about last night? The ones of the park?”

Zayn nods again. He feels a bit like a rag doll, with that being the only way he can communicate without fighting to get a word out of his mouth. He leaves his hand joined with Harry’s and reaches out to where he’s got a few books that he dragged out of a cupboard when he walked in the door last night, still bright and bubbling under his skin from just the small amount of time he spent with Harry.

He brings the heavy leather-bound book onto their laps, their hands joined underneath. It’s one of the larger journals of sorts that he has of the park from the first year he and Liam moved in. It’s filled with fallen leaves of autumn, the new growth of spring, the white of winter, and all that’s in between. Mostly it’s beginnings, which feels appropriate sitting with Harry the way he is. Feeling the whorls that coat Harry’s fingertips press into his skin.

They sit and they flick over page after page. Harry whispers and touches the edges of ones he takes an interest in. Sometimes it’s one word, sometimes a sentence, and Zayn feels like he’s meant to fill the silence that comes after. Harry’s questions don’t really need answers, not if the way he just continues on is anything to go by. Slowly, though, Zayn opens up. He clears his throat and speaks softly, a fraction above a whisper, but the flat is so quiet he could be shouting just to get above the sound of his heart beating irregularly in his ears.

They come to a series on the particular squirrel family that Niall abhors and Zayn finds himself retelling Harry the story of the missing food and the chase around the park and how Niall gets a certain look - there’s a picture of it, of course - whenever he sees any squirrel when they’re there. It doesn’t even have to be the right one. Though Niall always assures them all that it is.

Harry barks out this laugh and he smiles so wide his ruby lips white out again. Zayn can see the amusement in the leafy green of his eyes that echoes the spring turned summer growth on the trees in the pictures between them. He snickers in return and squeezes Harry’s hand tight as he leans in and tastes Harry’s laughter on his tongue. Sucks the smile from Harry’s lips and tilts his head, fitting their mouths together just to lick out all that Harry has to say next. He wants - he wants all of Harry’s words for all the one’s he can’t articulate.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind, only moans a little. His hand leaves where he’d been holding the edge of the book only to close the thing and Zayn pushes it from their laps to the floor as Harry moves in closer still. Zayn brushes his fingers up over Harry’s arm as Harry guides Zayn backwards till his head hits the arm of the sofa. Zayn’s still staring at Harry.

He can’t drag his eyes away from where Harry’s own have fluttered closed. His lashes are dark brown, nearly black, and full, sweeping across the top of his cheeks. Zayn has _open open open_ on repeat in his head because he likes Harry’s eyes. Likes how the green goes through so many changes depending on the lighting, and he wants to _see_ what this will look like.

Harry doesn’t, though. He just kisses Zayn like he’s fragile, like Zayn would actually stop him, break apart, or push him away. So Zayn threads his fingers into the soft, soft hair at the nape of Harry’s neck and _pulls_ him in. He drags his tongue over the tight cupid’s bow of Harry’s upper lip. He slides it into Harry’s mouth, wet and warm, and takes everything Harry is giving. Harry’s so open like this, not quite lying on top of Zayn but not exactly apart from him either. The points where their bodies connect set his body alight and he can _feel_ every one of them distinctly, like a brand. Harry’s hand on Zayn’s hip, under his jumper and scorching hot on Zayn’s skin right above his love heart tattoo. Harry’s knee nudging against Zayn’s inner thigh, a pressure that keeps pushing Zayn’s leg to the side and he keeps shifting it, giving Harry room. But Harry's lips - his kiss just keeps going on and on and Zayn leans up every time Harry pulls back, and drags Harry in. Harry follows even when breathing becomes hard, these loud, harsh sounds from flared nostrils and _god_ , Zayn hasn’t felt this way from a kiss alone for so long.

Too soon Harry manages to sit up, situates himself back against that damn pillow and pats Zayn’s ankle where it lies on his lap, dragged there by Harry himself. Zayn covers his eyes with his arm, can’t look up at Harry because he’s afraid of what Harry might see if he does. Zayn’s cheeks feel hot; he knows they’ll be scarlet the same as he knows the way his lips will be kiss-swollen and shining obscenely with a mix of his and Harry’s spit lost between them. He can feel his chest expand and relax with every harsh breath that he can’t control and it’s tight in the sweatpants he probably should have changed out of before Harry arrived. He’s turned on and shaking with it, but Harry pulled away and now Zayn doesn’t know which way is up anymore.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says between rushed breaths. His hand is light on Zayn’s skin, palm brushing the tendons on Zayn’s foot that are pulled tight because he’s flexing his toes. Zayn feels shaky with this - this whatever it is that Harry’s created, like he needs to jump around or he’ll vibrate right off the sofa.

Zayn shrugs his shoulders as best he can because he sort of understands. They’ve been riding this line between want and wait all morning - or, well, afternoon now - and it’s okay. It’s fine that it isn’t going any further than snogging. It’s fine. It’s good.  
Zayn rolls off the sofa and stands, shaking his arms down by his sides, curling his fingers into the soft wool of his jumper. He picks up the album and places it back on the table, pushing the edge until it sits just right.

“Zayn—” Harry starts, but Zayn interrupts with a proper look up at Harry’s face and a smile that feels tentative at best.

“Tea?” he asks, because it’s the only thing he can do in this situation, his lips still tingling from where he’d rasped them along the underside of Harry’s jaw. He doesn’t wait for an answer but heads to the kitchen and starts fussing about with the pot and the kettle.

Harry trails in behind him a minute later. Zayn can feel Harry at his back, leaning up against the cupboards as Zayn pulls out mugs and the good loose-leaf blend he loves that he thinks Harry will appreciate, too. It’s got spicy undertones and Zayn knows from how Harry smells and the hint of blood orange he licked from his mouth that it will be a good fit. They don’t say much else as they wait for the kettle to boil. It’s when the tea is steeping and Zayn finally turns around to look Harry in the eye that things change.

Harry’s blinking at him, his eyes dark now with the shoddy lighting in the kitchen, and Zayn hates that they look like a cloud’s moved across the sky, dulling something so luminous they should glow in the dark. Harry licks over his lips and Zayn notices how full they are, how almost bruised his flesh is, and they only kissed for a short while.

“I didn’t come here just for that. I came - I want to know you,” Harry says. Zayn chews at the inside of his lip, tucking the flesh between his teeth.

Harry clears his throat and spreads his hands open wide, the cuffs on his rolled-up sleeves pressing tightly into his elbows. “I liked last night. I liked today. I like you.”

Harry says this like it’s such a simple thing - and to him it probably is. Zayn, though, for Zayn it can’t be. Not really. Not with all the things that just being in this flat with Harry remind him of. The carefully chosen striped mugs that Liam hates and never uses. The tea that he always wrinkles his nose at but still makes for Zayn on Saturday mornings. The kettle that Zayn let’s whistle for longer than Liam ever would, purely because it’s some sort of _noise_ in the quiet aftermath of Harry and the sofa. Of Liam being gone.

“I like you, too.” Harry’s face lights up at Zayn’s words, the first he’s managed today without a hint of a tremor.

Harry nods and his curls fall over his face, hiding his eyes. Suddenly Zayn’s moving again without realising his destination until he’s there. His fingertips brush Harry’s hair behind his ears, a soft, barely-there slide down his cheek, a finger and thumb gripping his chin while he leans in and seals their confession with a quick press of their lips together.

“Okay,” Harry mumbles in the space between them when Zayn shifts back. “Okay.”

They take their tea back to the sofa and sit in the same positions they occupied before, yet a little more familiar. Zayn puts a movie in that Harry points out as they enter the room and they both drink from their cups and Zayn feels his body grow warm from the inside out. There are places where the warmth is just added to, places Harry has touched that haven’t lost the added bump of temperature from before. Zayn likes this. He hums over his brew a few times and hides smiles behind the rim. He catches Harry doing the same until he puts his mug down beside Zayn’s, who had finished his a few moments before. He drags Zayn’s feet onto his lap and Zayn slides down the sofa, warm and content and nearly purring from the attention Harry’s thumb is giving to the soft patch of skin just under his ankle bone.

The movie is near the end when the click of the door opening has Zayn yawning, looking up and around because he’s not sure he heard the sound at all.

It is a sound, though. It’s the door opening next and the shuffle and thump of bags falling to the floor. It’s the quiet turn of the lock and then footsteps in the hall, and Harry hasn’t stopped rubbing over Zayn’s foot yet Zayn’s heart is racing.

In a blink, Liam’s there.

His hair is wet and curly - long, like he hadn’t got it cut as he’d been meaning to for weeks before he disappeared. Zayn had begged and pleaded with him not to. Made offers with his body, with his mouth if Liam would just leave it to grow. It curls around his face now, making deep, dark purple shadows under his eyes. Makes the frown on his brow that much more pronounced as a drip of water falls from the middle of his left eye down his cheek and again from the curve of his jaw.

They say nothing. Just looks exchanged and breaths in and out and Zayn - Zayn doesn’t know how to feel or what to say because it’s like the empty part of his chest has filled right up with just the appearance of Liam, wet and bedraggled, staining the hardwood floor.

He wants to reach out and touch, make sure Liam is real - that he’s not hallucinating like he did for the first few days Liam was gone. He wants to slap at Liam, make him hurt, yell and scream about how much he hates how easy it was for Liam to go. Then Harry’s squeezing a hand over Zayn’s knee and standing up and letting Zayn’s feet fall back to the stupid overstuffed cushion. He tips his head to Liam and without another word he’s out the door.

It stays silent, the drip from the water on Liam’s clothes keeping alternate time with the ticking of their clock. The breath entering and leaving their lungs is another sound to keep track of as well as the beat, beat, beating of Zayn’s heart as he takes his fill of Liam. _His Liam._

There’s a coldness in his gut that he knows is to do with Harry. The guilt he feels so suddenly for all that he’s done in twenty-four hours takes hold and squeezes its place into the light that having Liam return has filled Zayn with.

Liam licks at his lips; his brown eyes like the coffee he so likes to drink, all black and warm, seek out Zayn’s own. He looks like he’s going to say something - anything - but nothing comes. Not a sigh, not a yawn. Nothing. He just turns and heads in the direction of the bathroom and then it’s the shower turning on and Zayn is left alone.

He feels hollow, empty of everything that Harry had finally set right inside that turned into something different with Liam’s return. Even that is gone now, and Zayn . . . Zayn doesn’t know what to do with that. The movie credits roll and Zayn looks up at the ceiling. Stares at the rose crown moulding which was one of his reasons they _needed_ to live here. He lets his eyes follow the curves and intricate designs as the sound of the shower running lingers, and Zayn’s asleep by the time it turns off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay but big bang happened and then a multitude of little fic things that didn't let this work out. but it's all coming together now. thanks for reading :D


	3. Chapter 3

_would you like to forget_  
 _drop everything, start it all over_

 

They don’t really talk. 

Liam comes home and Zayn moves back into the bedroom. The most they actually say about anything is when Liam’s coming out of the shower and Zayn is heading in.

“You don’t even like Thor.”

Zayn stops and blinks just as he’s moving past Liam into the steaming warmth of the bathroom. Liam’s looking at him under curls dark and wet, plastered to his forehead, in nothing but a towel. Zayn’s looking more at how the water is sliding down Liam’s chest than really paying attention to what he’s saying.

“Thor?” Zayn’s brow wrinkles, trying to figure out exactly what that means because Liam hasn’t spoken more than “Pass the salt” and “Where’s my blue shirt? The one with the—" in the past four days he’s been home.

Liam licks over his lips, pushing his hair off his face with one hand while the other shifts over where it’s curled over his hip.

“The movie.”

Zayn shakes his head a little, running all possibilities of why the movie version of Thor is important, and then he remembers. 

He was watching Thor with Harry. The day Liam came home and Zayn’s feet were in Harry’s lap, and they haven’t . . . he hasn’t mentioned Harry since. Hasn’t actually talked to Harry in all that time, either. Not that they exchanged numbers. Just kisses. Fuck.

Liam must see when Zayn pieces it together, because his eyes change, the deep brown darkening until it’s like that espresso that Liam loves so much. “Haven’t seen you watch it by choice before.”

Which to Zayn’s ears means, "Who was that you were basically lying on and why was he here and why were you watching it with him?"

Zayn shrugs. He isn’t sure exactly what Harry is yet. Harry was this bright influx of colour and sound and touch, and then Liam came home. Liam came back and the void he’d left was swallowed up by his return, blocking out all that Harry had become in the mean time. Not that anything has changed, though. Zayn and Liam haven’t discussed anything important, but obviously Harry _is_ , even to Liam.

“Wasn’t my choice this time either” is all he says, looking down at the ground because he still feels guilty about this. 

The pocket of weight in his gut hasn’t shifted at all since Liam came home and Liam woke him up the next morning with breakfast and a pot of tea that was perfect. They ate in silence, but where Liam’s ankle pressed against Zayn’s own was words enough. Not that Zayn knew if they were an apology, or an I missed you, or _what_ they were. It was _something_ after such a long time of _nothing_ and Zayn ate up the touch like a starving man being handed a crust of mouldy bread. 

This isn’t to say he wasn’t still angry with Liam. Zayn had questions he wanted answers to. He had apologies he wanted to hear as well as make. But while Liam said nothing, Zayn didn’t speak either. An uneasy truce, but a truce forged from silence none the less.

“Okay.”

When Zayn looks up, Liam’s brushing past him into the hall. Zayn’s stands there afterwards wondering if they were both talking around the same thing he thought they were.

He finds Harry later that day. Liam heads off to teach at the little music school he’s been at since before they left Uni. Zayn gets dressed and grabs his favourite camera and heads to the park. He doesn’t specifically seek out Harry, just wanders around taking shots of the sky because it’s a perfect, _perfect_ blue today and it sets fire to all the other colours around it. It’s around three when he finally feels hungry again and it’s his nose and the fresh-baked smell of cinnamon and spice that draws him to a little bakery across from a side of the park he rarely visits. It’s old, from the look of things. The sign above the door is faded to a name in a swirl of mustard, or perhaps maybe it was orange once. It's hard to make out, but the black stamp of "Bakery" underneath seems to promise good things. The glass inserts in the door are mottled with age. A fine white dust that Zayn hopes is flour is settled in the frames, but the stone the building’s made out of could be reason for it, too.

The bell above the door tinkles in a way that sounds like it’s done so thousands of times. It's not a bright sound but something more soft, warm even. He walks through the few scattered wooden tables with their stark white tablecloth coverings and heads to the very shiny, very clean glass counter. It houses a multitude of cakes and pastries that has Zayn’s mouth watering. There are rows of bread behind them in all shapes and sizes in wide racks, chicken-scratch marks passing for labels with prices and names that have Zayn’s stomach rumbling loudly. He stands there for a while, taking it all in. His fingers itch to capture the perfection in the rainbow of colour that a row of fruit tarts provides. He wants to get the warmth, the home-like feeling of a certain stack of cob loaves with their curves just begging to be touched, ripped open, and the soft white insides eaten plain or with a smear of good butter.

Zayn’s never been one to cook or bake - his mother was the one for that when he lived at home and Liam’s more the chef in their house now - but his artist's eye appreciates the good things. This bakery, this out of the way, unassuming from the front store is a whole different world on the inside. Zayn thinks he might have to do a series of food shots or maybe call Leah back about that shoot for Nigella’s next book. 

“Hiya, sorry ‘bout the wait, didn’t hear you come in. Got a bit lost in decorations for this groom’s cake. When did people start having grooms - _oh._ ” The voice stops and Zayn looks up from the pork pies and has a little _oh_ moment of his own.

“Zayn,” Harry says, face lit up, and how has Zayn gone days without seeing this? Harry’s eyes are pale olive today, reminding Zayn of the grapes in the fruit tarts he was lusting over before. Harry’s got a bit of blue on his cheek that matches the schmeer on his right hand and his mouth is as red as the cherries that sit atop the Manchester Tarts. Zayn wants to kiss them to see if he tastes the same.

"H-h-harry," Zayn stutters. He bites at the inside of his cheek, trying to stop the shake to his words. It's ridiculous how Harry gets him like this. Has him feeling like he did back in primary school when he had to actually speak words to communicate. It was a strange environment when he couldn't get by with just pointing at what he wanted like he did with his parents at home. His dad did so much for him, always had Zayn by his side from the moment he woke to the second he fell asleep. His dad was the one who kept him back until he _had_ to send him to school and Zayn's stutter just made him retreat even further into himself. Made it harder to get to know anyone when half the time he couldn't even get a simple "hello" out. Zayn's never been good with new people and new situations, and Harry makes him nervous. Harry has that flutter back in Zayn's stomach, that tightness in his chest that he hasn't felt in a long while.

Harry jumps over the counter, sliding over the polished surface and landing at Zayn's feet. He's so close Zayn could count his eyelashes if he wanted to. 

"Hi," Harry says, and he smiles, leaning in and pressing his grin against Zayn's lips. Zayn can only kiss him in return. Harry tastes like sugar and something tart like lemon zest, maybe even star anise. He's got his hands on Zayn's hips under his leather jacket, thumbs rubbing softly over the skin beneath Zayn's shirt. Zayn grasps at Harry's arms, feels the strength that hides under long, gangly limbs and slow movements. It's nothing like the pure bulk that Liam has . . . but Zayn can't think about Liam now. Not when Harry gets a grip around Zayn's waist and hauls him up, spinning them around so Zayn's sitting on the counter and Harry's between his legs.

Their lips don't leave each other's the entire time, not even as Zayn gasps at how easily Harry shifted him. Harry just uses that as an opportunity to slide his tongue into Zayn's mouth and then Zayn's fingertips run through the mass of curls at the back of Harry's head. Zayn tilts Harry's head to the side a little so their lips align just right. Their kiss deepens, turns dirty with all sloppy wet sounds in the quiet of the shop along with harsh breaths from them both. Zayn slides his hand down Harry's neck, skin sticky with sweat - and grains of sugar, most likely. He can feel the corded muscle under Harry's shirt as he curves his fingers over Harry's shoulder, fits his thumb into the groove of his collarbone. 

Harry's pulling him in until Zayn has no choice but to widen his legs and slip closer to the edge of the counter, where he can feel the heat of Harry's body so close to his own. Harry rocks his body against Zayn's and Zayn can feel what this is doing to Harry, too. Zayn's cock is plumping up against the tight fit of his black jeans, and when Zayn pushes into Harry's touch Harry pulls away. He groans as he lets his cheek rest against Zayn's. Harry's fingertips are tight on the soft dip of Zayn's waist and it pinches, but Zayn doesn't tell him to stop. 

His head is rushing with thoughts that are all in a jumble of different emotions. Why did Harry stop and maybe it's a good thing because they've barely said hello, and also when can they do it again? Harry breathes out this curse that curls over Zayn's ear and he shudders. Harry's lips follow the sound, brushing the line of his jaw until he's just nuzzling Zayn's cheek and Zayn has to close his eyes. It's much easier to follow the feel of what Harry's doing with one of his senses cut off. Easier to turn it into a memory to pull up later when he's home in the house he shares with Liam that's not got one ounce of heat in it anymore. Not even when Zayn turns the heat on high. 

"I wasn't going to do that," Harry whispers, his hands still gripping Zayn tight. "I was . . . I want . . . ." He chuckles shakily. "I don't know what I was going to do. But snogging you like that and not even asking if it's all right wasn't what I was going to do next time I saw you."

"I - I don't mind," Zayn nearly whimpers, because Harry's got a hand on the small of Zayn's back, pressing their bodies together so there's hardly a space between them. Harry wraps both arms around him now, makes Zayn feel comfortable, lets him release a shuddery breath and it's impossible. It should be inconceivable how this near stranger has an ability to sooth all Zayn's nerves with touch and a few words alone. It's something that took Liam weeks - maybe a year, really - and has taken this boy a few hours in Zayn's company to get right. 

Harry's lips brush over Zayn's temple, the arch of his brow. "Yeah, well." He stops, releases this long breath, and Zayn can smell that _sweetsour_ that he tasted before. Harry pulls back and Zayn's eyes flutter open. He blinks fast as Harry's come into view, bright now and glossy like the cat’s-eye marbles he had when he was a lad, inky black centre with rolling green around the edge of the glass.

"Hello, Zayn, how are you?"

Zayn laughs, this chuckle that starts in the pit of his stomach and rattles his ribs on its way out. His eyes scrunch up and he loses sight of Harry, his image blurring as Harry's loud bark of laughter mixes with his own and echoes in the shop.

"F-fine. Go-go-good even." Zayn bites down on his tongue and feels his cheeks heat because even now he can't stop the stutter. Can't get the flutter in his mouth to _stop_ long enough to get a proper sentence out. He ducks his head and presses his face into the curve of Harry's neck where the scent of sugar is stronger; he can almost taste it. 

Harry doesn't stop stroking his hands, all large and warm, over Zayn's back. A steady rhythm like the sound of Harry's heart. A dull echo of which Zayn is sure he can feel against his lips, Harry's pulse a staccato under pale skin. 

"I liked the other day. I liked being in your house."

Zayn whispers, "Me, too," proud of the fact he can manage two words evenly. He smiles because the memory of Harry on the sofa and Harry's hands all reassuring on Zayn's ankle have been on repeat in his mind of late. Every time he wakes up and he's alone. Every time he and Liam shift in widening circles through the kitchen or pass each other in the hall it's always Harry's touch that he thinks back on. Harry's kind eyes and lips . . . his lips most of all.

"I'd like to do that again. But I have a feeling you're not quite there yet." Harry leans back and tilts his head to the side, and Zayn hears the questions about Liam that Harry isn't asking. Zayn isn't sure he can explain - or wants to explain - so he nods. How can he tell Harry he just wants to keep him all to himself, just something for Zayn alone, without sounding like a selfish toddler fussing over a toy?

"This was good, though. This was nice." Harry shifts back, slides his hands over Zayns and links their fingers together with a squeeze. He's smiling when Zayn looks up, those dimples deep in his cheeks and his lips a berry hue. Harry's grin is cheeky enough to look like he's been caught eating too many raspberries, turning them that colour. Not just because of how harsh their kisses had turned before.

"Come in the back. I close up early today because of the cakes. Must have forgot to turn the sign before you came in - which is lucky, I guess." Harry tugs at their joined hands and Zayn slides off the counter with a nod. His whole body feels warm and sort of itchy under his skin - in the best of ways - from just being around Harry. He's not willing to give that up yet; anything is better than the cold numbness of being in the flat that was once a home. 

"Sure," Zayn says, and the summer green of Harry's eyes is hidden by how they scrunch up to near slits with the width of his smile.

. . .

He spends the rest of the afternoon watching Harry bake. The concentration on Harry's face is evident from the strawberry pink of his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he spreads the baby-blue buttercream over rich red velvet. The slightest tremor to his hand as he piped on black lettering and creates ball and chains out of marzipan, then flowers for a wedding cake the next day. These tiny things are so delicate in his large hands. 

Zayn goes home that day with icing sugar in his hair and buttercream on his tongue. He holds half a dozen lemon tarts in a box under his arm and has a warmth in his heart that he thought he'd lost somewhere along the line. 

When he gets in, Liam's at home and asleep on the table, wild light brown curls covering his face, the little sun coming through the window highlighting strands in golden hues. He looks so young. So carefree and so, _so_ much like the boy Zayn fell in love with at the library every weekend that it only adds to the glow he can feel settled on his candy-covered skin. Zayn sets the tarts down and strokes a hand through Liam's hair, shifting wayward curls from his brow. Liam's breath stutters, his top lip trembles and his hand grabs at Zayn's and pulls it down toward his mouth. His lips graze lightly over Zayn's knuckles.

Zayn has to close his eyes. He can't watch Liam do this - want him - so easily in his sleep. Not when they've been so distant for so long. Not with how empty Zayn has felt since Liam left, wishing it would change when he returned. He thinks about Harry instead. The easy way Harry _wants_ him and isn't afraid to show it. Remembers Harry's lips on his skin, the way he kissed Zayn like it _meant_ something.

It's because of that, because of Harry, that there's this sudden coldness in his stomach and guilt eating away at his insides - because he loves Liam, too. Loves him still, even if it isn't the easiest thing right now when he thinks - knows, maybe - that Liam doesn't love him the same in return anymore. They both let what they had fall apart. Liam throws himself into work and Zayn into his art. Both of them let silences stretch between them until any word spoken, no matter how soft, is like a shout. 

He pulls his hand from Liam's grip now and heads toward the bed, where he's slept alone since Liam returned. Zayn curls into a ball, as small as he can, and tells himself it's for warmth. Tells himself it's got nothing to do with how his belly aches as much as his heart. He'll talk to Liam in the morning. Finally figure out what they aren't, or are, and then he'll tell him about Harry, too. Tell him all about the boy with the coffee curls and the cinnamon taste who caught his eye and made him realise that he wants more. He wants sunshine on his lips and stardust under his skin, bursting into supernovas with each tentative touch. 

He wants to _feel_ that again with Liam, or at least sort out whether it's a possibility anymore. 

Zayn needs a whole heart.

. . .

They don't talk the next morning. They don't talk all day, actually, what with Zayn waking earlier than Liam because he forgot he had a shoot out in the country. This means a four a.m. wake-up call from Niall and a van with a bloody loud horn at half past. Zayn's gone all day, taking shots of Niall's band in a lovely part of Kent. It's all green hills and a lake that's bloody freezing, judging by how much Josh and Sandy curse when Niall and Dan push them in. It's a bonfire in the afternoon and catching sparks floating up into the air and reflections of flames in the lads’ eyes as Niall sings and they play acoustic to the group of extras that feel more like fans once it's gone dark. It's Niall making him laugh and Dan discussing the look they're hoping for for the cover and maybe getting Zayn to design some shirts for the next tour. Before he knows it, it's eleven and the lads are dropping him home. 

He's dead tired, half asleep on his feet as he dumps his cameras in the lounge. He shrugs his clothes off, leaving a trail to the bedroom that Liam won't say a word about but will pick up and have in the wash before Zayn wakes. It's because he's so tired, eyes mostly closed and feeling his way by memory alone, that he slides into bed and nearly jumps back out of it when he finds he's not alone.

Liam's there.

Liam who he hasn't shared a bed with in months. Liam who hasn't really spoken to him at all since he came back. Just polite sentences in ten words or less. Liam's there and he must have woken up at Zayn's squeak of surprise. He's lifting the blanket up and wrapping an arm around Zayn, pulling him in against his chest. Zayn is so unsure what to do with himself. He hasn't been this close to Liam in such a long time but he's so bone tired and Liam is so warm, and in seconds he's settling down against him. Lets Liam tug him in until Liam's chest is covering Zayn's back, one arm strong around his waist and one leg pressed between Zayn's.

"'m sorry, 'm so sorry," Liam whispers into Zayn's hair when Zayn's just about passed out. He thinks he imagined it, but then Liam's got Zayn's hand, fingertips pressing light against the corresponding tips of Zayn's own. "Missed you, missed you so much." 

He breathes all of this into the back of Zayn's head and then his lips are a soft touch on Zayn’s neck and he doesn't know what to do. He's waited to hear anything, have _anything_ from Liam, and this is a start. It's something, and it hurts and lifts his heart all at the same time. 

They'll talk. They'll sort through this and Zayn can - will - put Harry from his mind because this is _Liam_ , and Liam means . . . he means so much.

"Missed you more," Zayn says all soft. He raises their hands to his lips and breathes the words into Liam's palm. 

It feels like a start, a beginning at healing whatever it is that went so wrong between them both as Zayn slides into sleep, safe in Liam's arms. 

When he wakes, Liam is gone and there's no note. No breakfast cooked and waiting for him like Liam used to do back in the beginning. There's nothing and it deflates Zayn like a balloon, has him crawling back into bed and staying there sleeping on and off as the sun skips across the room, shadows chasing each other into darkness. 

It's where Liam finds him later, smelling of dirt and grass and _boy_ as he crawls onto the bed, facing Zayn with unsure eyes. He looks as sad and hopeless as Zayn feels. They don't speak, just stare, and Zayn wonders if anything that was said the night before was real. Maybe he dreamed it up somehow.

"I spent the day with that boy today," Liam says, and it's not at all what Zayn was expecting. Shocks his blood cold and freezes his breath in his chest. 

Liam's cheeks are pink like the tip of his nose, the furrow in the middle of his brow deep as he continues on. "He came over for you, introduced himself when I said you'd been out late and needed a lie-in. He goes to our park, d'you know that?"

Zayn nods slowly because this sounds like a confession with a hint of guilt, and shouldn't that be how Zayn feels right now?

Liam chews at his bottom lip for a moment before he continues, ducking his eyes from Zayn's gaze when he speaks again. "We jogged on that path that takes you past the duck pond. Then Louis was there with Stan and the lads and we played five a side for most of the afternoon. He's nice - he's nice, your Harry." 

And Zayn really does feel sick now. _Your Harry_. 

He's anything but.

"I like him—" Liam starts at the same time Zayn says, "I kissed him."

Zayn can hear their heartbeats in the silence that follows.

Watches the eleven times it takes Liam to blink between breathing out and in.

Counts the spaces between the freckles on Liam's nose while he waits for a reaction.

Five footsteps between the bed and the door that Liam turns the handle to close quietly as he departs.

Zayn rolls onto his stomach and covers his head with a pillow, wondering how he ended up being the one to truly fuck this up.

Three years of a relationship, of a love that filled him to the brim, sometimes too much. A boy he thought he had a forever with - planned a life with - that he'd now pushed further away than he ever thought he could. All because of a lad with green-apple eyes and a ruby-red cupid's-bow mouth.

He lies there waiting for Liam to do something - anything - and time drags slowly past.

He gives up after what feels like an hour but is probably more like ten minutes, fifteen at the most. Zayn's got Liam's jumper on, too broad in the shoulders to be anything Zayn would have bought for himself. He treads softly out into the living area and finds it bare of Liam's presence. It knocks the wind out of him, that Liam's gone again. Has Zayn curling in on himself and seeking the warmth of the afternoon sun that hits the front step at this time of the afternoon in just the right spot. 

When he opens the door, Liam's already there. He's got his knees pulled up to his chest, head resting on his thighs. He looks so small, so tiny compared to how big he usually feels around Zayn that Zayn isn't sure if he should sit beside him or continue to stand. He sways on his feet for a moment - his decision not to eat all day might not have been a good one - then falls to the ground in an indelicate heap after a few seconds more. Zayn echoes Liam's body’s position, resting his chin on his knees and closing his eyes to the sun. 

"Where?" Liam says after a moment. Zayn bites at the inside of his cheek again, because this is going to hurt worse than he thought. Of course Liam wants details. Of course he wants to strip Zayn of any warmth in his heart.

"On the lips, Liam. No - nowhere else."

Liam shakes his head a little, curls flying gold and a little bronze in the dying embers of the sun. "No, did you do it here? Here in our house?"

Zayn nods, swallowing hard on the sick he can feel rising in his throat because this hurts him, but it has to hurt Liam more. Zayn doing this behind his back while they were still . . . while they could have been a something else. 

"And - and you wanted to?" Liam asks, and he sounds broken, sounds completely torn up and Zayn hates that he did this, even though Liam was the one to walk out. Liam _left_ but he never did this. Never shredded Zayn's heart.

"He looked at me like you used to. He was _h-h-here_ , Liam, and you - y-y-you left." Zayn's stutter is back again and he hasn't - he doesn't _do_ this around Liam. Hasn't in such a long time and it has Liam looking up, stretching his legs out in front of him as he turns to Zayn. His dark brown eyes scrunch against the orange rays from the sun. 

"We left each other, Zayn. I just didn't stick around to haunt the house."

And that cuts Zayn. Slices into his skin and leaves blood rising to the surface with its truth, as hard as it is to hear. He knows he went quiet. Knows he stopped answering most of Liam's questions or attempts at discussion weeks before Liam walked out the door. This here, this now, is the most they've talked in a time that is so long Zayn can't remember when their last proper conversation occurred at all. 

"I'm sorry," Zayn says, because he is. He needs Liam to know he's sorry for withdrawing into himself. That he's sorry for not trying harder at what they had. That he's sorry for Harry becoming involved.

"I can't lose you, Zayn. I came home to sort this, and if you don't want to you have to—"

Zayn reaches over and puts two fingers to Liam's lips. "No, I do. I do. He was - he's not what I want," and even as he says it he feels a part of him recognise it as a lie. Harry was a bright shining beginning that had all the sparkle of potential written into his skin, shining in the verdant hues of eyes that asked questions that lips didn't allow. Liam is care and concern and Zayn's mother's cooking, hot samosas and saffron and garlic that smell like home. 

"I just want you here with me. I want you home."

Liam says nothing more, just fits an arm around Zayn and drags him close, chapped lips at Zayn's forehead, and Zayn presses himself close. Lets Liam's warmth and the sun fill up the empty spaces in his body.

. . . 

They don't talk about Harry for a week.

Zayn avoids the park. Liam uses the treadmill at the gym, citing rain as the reason.

It rains every day so it could be the truth, though Zayn knows that Liam loves nothing more than donning his wet-weather gear and skipping over puddles on the park’s paths.

Zayn doesn't know if he should be happy or concerned that Liam is avoiding Harry's favored haunt.

It's another weekend gone past when Liam blurts it all out.

"We should have Harry around."

Zayn drops the tray of frozen pies and chips he was about to put in the oven for dinner onto the floor. Bends down to clean it up and thinks maybe he didn't hear Liam right.

"Like, he seems to be nice enough. Setting aside the fact that you kissed, I mean. We don't really have that many new friends, Zayn, and he just - he seems like someone we could get along with, y'know?"

Zayn shakes his head, tries to sort out all this new information. When he stands up and grips the tea towel tightly between two fists he's met with Liam hunched over the table, licking over his bottom lip and looking decidedly unsure himself about what he's saying.

"We really don't have to," Zayn says, because he's not sure, either. He's still uneasy with how hard it's been to notgo and find Harry. Find Harry and explain that he can't kiss him anymore because he's kissing Liam on a more permanent basis again. Say all of that to Harry and not expect a slap in the face and disappointment colouring Harry's cheeks, tugging down at his dimples until they disappear under hurt, his smile sagging down into nothingness and Zayn can't. He can't do that. He can't be a part of someone else’s pain purely because he made the wrong decision. Or the right one.

"I liked him, Zayn. I think you liked him, too, and I think it could make things better. It could be a start."

Liam sounds so sure of himself now, this warmth to the timbre of his tone, so Zayn nods and shrugs his shoulders a little. Liam smiles properly now.

"It won't be like - it won't be weird, like?" Zayn asks because he has to. If this strange idea of Liam's is to work then it won't be Zayn being the one to fuck it all up.

Liam gets off the chair and walks toward Zayn, wrapping him up in his arms and leaning in close. "We won't let it."

Zayn knows this is a dumb idea. It won't fix anything to bring someone else into their dysfunctional relationship. They haven't had Aiden and Matt around in so long it's a wonder they're still accepting their calls. Yet maybe Liam's right. Maybe having someone new to bounce ideas off and discuss their lives with will help. It'd at least add another voice to the mostly quiet moments that exist between Liam and Zayn when no one else is about.

"You want to start now?"

Liam nods. "I'll call him up!" He lets go of Zayn and there's a bounce in his step as he digs around in his bag for his phone. His face lights up when Harry apparantly answers.

It's only later, when Harry's been for dinner and stayed for a three episodes of Bake Off and headed home with a few CDs from Liam and leftovers from the pasta Zayn made instead of the pies, that Zayn realises Liam had Harry's number.

Zayn didn't even know Harry had a phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goal: finish this by the end of the year. Achievable. Thanks for reading if you still are!


	4. Chapter 4

_I know you didn't mean it (start it all over)_   
_I know you didn't mean it (remember more than you'd like to forget)_

 

Harry becomes a constant.

The first night Harry comes over for dinner is only the beginning. The next morning he's there at the breakfast table when Zayn rolls out of bed at ten. Dark curls damp and pulled back from his brow with a ridiculous headband, the rest tied into a topknot that sticks out at all angles on his head. His smile is wide as he shovels in a large spoon of corn flakes and Liam's lips are a quick smack on Zayn's cheek that matches the one Liam's hand snaps on Zayn's arse.

It's the second time Harry's been jogging with Liam, and if Zayn's stomach dips with a feeling he doesn't want to name it's only Zayn who knows about it. He's fairly certain he passes off his frown as something aimed at Liam's cheeky hands, but he can't be sure. Zayn sits down across from Harry in his normal spot and Liam gushes about this new track that Harry showed him and how they can use one of the kids’ play centres as a sort of gym, doing pullups on the monkey bars, step-ups on the stairs to the slide. Zayn hasn't seen Liam this excited for a long time, talking with his hands and asking Harry a question before answering it for him. Harry just grins throughout and as much as Zayn doesn't want to, isn't sure about this whole "Harry and Liam" thing, he can't help but smile and relax a little as Liam's joy is catching.

The next day Zayn wakes up to the sounds of Liam dropping his boxing kit on the floor, heavy and loud. Liam snickers when the noise has Zayn opening one eye and then two because Harry's the one staring back at him. Harry just smiles and it makes Zayn's chest feel tight when Liam leans in to press his lips to Zayn's brow. It's a quick apology with a small grin about the noise and waking Zayn up before midday. 

"Just been down to Mark's gym. You should have seen this one with the speedball," Liam says with a laugh. Zayn rolls onto his back to the vision of Liam stripping off his white shirt, back muscles rolling and shining with sweat even in the low morning light.

"I wasn't that bad," Harry adds, and Zayn's eyes flick back in his direction, noting how Harry's staring at Liam, too. This just makes it that much harder for Zayn to draw breath, makes his mouth that little bit dryer as he attempts to swallow.

Liam throws his balled-up shirt at Harry. "Mate, Zayn didn't knock himself out when he first threw a punch." He nods at Zayn with a fond look in his eyes as he dips his thumbs under the low-hanging waistband of his grey trackies, pulling the worn material back and forth. Zayn frowns because is Liam really going to strip off right here with Harry in the room? Have they become so familiar in the few times they've hung out together that Liam's become comfortable being _naked_ around their new friend?

Harry throws the shirt back at Liam and squeezes Zayn's foot where it sticks out at the end of the bed as he walks past. "I've got to get going. See you tonight for dinner at mine?" 

Zayn blinks, wondering when _that_ invite occurred because he's busy tonight - Liam knows he's got a shoot out at some factory for this DJ - and it kind of hurts that he's either forgotten or . . . maybe he's not even invited. 

Liam nods and drags his trackies down his legs in one swift movement. Zayn has a second to wonder if he even wore pants under there at all before he remembers that Harry's in the room. Zayn's eyes widen, skipping straight back to the door, but Harry's already disappeared. Which is . . . well, it's okay because Harry's gone, but Zayn isn't sure he _was_ before Liam started stripping off.

"See you then, mate!" Liam calls out. He pounces on top of Zayn on the bed, smiles widely and virtually pins Zayn under the duvet. 

"Hello," he says while leaning in to rub the tip of his nose against Zayn's. Before Zayn can even get a word out, Liam's nearly biting at his lips, this harsh kiss that's almost painful, one that Zayn can't help returning. 

"God, you just look so soft like this. So fucking sexy, babe," Liam says in between kisses. He shifts his hips down low, grinding against Zayn. Even through the duvet there's still enough friction against Zayn's dick to garner some attention. "Always so randy after a good workout, and you all sleepy warm and just—" He pauses with a grunt. His teeth scraping over Zayn's jaw punches the air out of Zayn's chest with a sharp nip to the cut of his Adam's apple. Zayn's body definitely isn't sleepy anymore. His veins are humming with blood shifting around quickly and this _want_ to touch and feel and _fuck_ Liam. His fingertips stretch and flex but there's nothing to hold on to, nothing to grab because Liam's got him pinned, large hands pressed tight over Zayn's upper arms. 

And they haven't . . . they haven't touched each other properly in days because Zayn's been busy with work and Liam's had classes and wow, Zayn really wants this. Wants this quick fuck in the morning before life worms its way in. Wants Liam all disgustingly sweaty but smelling so fucking manly. It's one of the weirdest things about Liam that turns him on - probably shouldn't because Liam _stinks_ , refusing to shower at the gym - but fuck, how it does. Zayn's reaching up as much as he can, shoulders nearly off the bed with how he's attempting to get Liam's lips back on his. Liam isn't having it, though. He's got his head turned away so Zayn mostly gets at Liam's birthmark, which really isn't that bad. He can still mark him up, give him something to blush about whenever anyone mentions it throughout the day. A permanent reminder of Zayn etched on his skin much like some of the ink of Zayn's is of Liam in return.

"Shit, is that the time? I've got classes in an hour."

Zayn blinks, breathless as Liam skates his lips over the apple of Zayn's cheek, and then he's gone, black pant-clad arse disappearing through the bedroom door.

Zayn slams his head back into the pillows and whines, his dick twitching in sympathy under the sheets. He slips his hand down over his belly and pushes at the base of his dick, not sure of anything apart from how fast his heart is beating, how his skin tingles from the burn of Liam's stubble on his cheek, and how much his cock aches in his hand. He's so turned on and Liam's left him here like this, barely awake and hard and utterly confused as to what's just gone on. 

He hasn't even got a word out.

"You could always join me. We've probably got time for a cheeky handie if you don't mind getting that precious mop of yours wet," Liam says with a smirk, his head popping back around the door frame and disturbing Zayn from his musing. Zayn sighs and throws the duvet back and chuckles when Liam turns around, his fist pumping the air with a quiet "Yes!" that sounds more like a hiss than anything else.

Later, after they both come and Liam leaves Zayn in the shower with soap in his hair and a quick pat on his bum, he finds himself smiling and humming around the house as he tidies up. It's not that it's unusual for him to tidy. Or even to hum. It just hits him that he's actually feeling something he hasn't in quite a while. It's this strange happiness that reminds him of months before. Months and _months_ before, when things were right between him and Liam, and sex and talking and laughter were just a normal part of life. He catches sight of a scarf that he knows isn't his or Liam's, distinctly remembers that Harry wore it the first time they met, and - well. Even if Liam is doing more of the getting to know you friend stuff with Harry than Zayn is, maybe it's all working out. 

Though it doesn't stop this dark, jealous spike of emotion later that night when he checks his phone to a link on Harry's Instagram of Liam thumbs-up in front of a big plate of Chicken Korma. The lighting is all soft and Zayn knows that even with filters there is no way the photo wasn't taken without the aid of candlelight. It's too soft, too warm to be anything else. The hashtags #nofilter #romanticdinnerwithPayno #blownbulb #scentedcandle aren't exactly a help. 

He throws out the little container of food Harry sent over the next morning once Liam's gone to work. When Liam asks about it later, he lies and says it smelled a bit off. If he pretends he can't see the way Harry's face falls a little when Liam tells him about it, well, that's just something that only Zayn has to know.

The "gym dates" continue for two more weeks. It becomes a regular thing for Zayn to wake up either to Liam lacing his runners up and Harry leaning against the door, or it's Liam coming back all sweaty and horny and Harry making a quick exit before it turns into too much like free porn. It's strange and it makes Zayn a little uncomfortable. Even though he doesn't want to be jealous, doesn't even think he has a right to be, he still _feels_ it every time Liam lights up talking about something he and Harry have done. It's ridiculous, really. Stupid even. Zayn's getting some of the best sex ever from his boyfriend. Their fight over stupid things hasn't been discussed but it's pushed out of mind every time Liam kisses him hard and fast, or gets a hand on his cock, or just _smiles_ in Zayn's general direction. 

Zayn puts up with it a little. Figures that even if he doesn't get to spend time with Harry the way Liam does, it's okay. It's okay because Liam is happy like Zayn hasn't seen him be in so long and Harry is lovely and it's what Zayn wanted. Sort of. He liked Harry, _likes_ Harry, and it's nice that he and Liam get along. All kissing considered.

It all changes, though, when Harry starts his morning shift at the bakery. He hasn't got time to work out with Liam. Liam whines about it for a few days but ends up going, virtually chomping at the bit to exercise, dragging Louis there instead. It's weird not seeing Harry every morning and chatting over pancakes or cereal or whatever, but it's fine. It's fine. Zayn did actually have a morning routine before Harry came along. Yet he still finds himself putting out an extra setting at the table even though Liam's gone to work and Zayn's eating breakfast on his own. It's right about the fifth day of eating by himself that his phone buzzes and Zayn smiles because Harry's face lights up on his phone.

_Hiya! Snagged tickets tonight to Jay Z, want to tag along? x._

Zayn texts back straight away because that's freaking awesome and he actually has nothing on. Mentions how much Liam will love it - even if he has to work in the morning - how many times does an opportunity like this come along.

_oh soz mate, I've only got one spare :( Liam's got that meeting with the board at 9, doubt he'd want to come x._

Zayn frowns and takes his dish to the sink with one hand, wondering when did Harry know more about Liam's work life than he did. Then again, Zayn's been busy putting together some shots for the gallery of a friend who wants to showcase a few of his landscapes. He's been holed up in his darkroom for days trying to sort out which ones he wants to use. He texts Liam to ask about it because he can't - he just can't say yes without letting Liam know - and Liam's smiley faces and silly line of ridiculous emojis ending in a prawn are a permission of sorts enough. Well, he hopes they are because ever since Harry taught Liam where to find the bloody things it's more "eggplant, eggplant, Union Jack, thumbs up" than words. 

He texts Harry back that it's fine and he'd love to come and Harry's excited return takes a mere second after Zayn hits send. 

The day goes fast with Zayn fixing colour and tone, and before he knows it he's running late. He meets Harry at this out of the way bar in jeans covered in chemicals, his spare band tee thrown on and leather jacket that he's pretty sure still has dried sick on it from when Niall took him out on the piss a month before. He blinks a little in shock at the kiss Harry plants on his lips as hello. Harry’s long arms wrap around Zayn's torso and Zayn can taste the sweet ginger and mint of whatever Harry's been drinking on his tongue. 

"'M-m-m, sorry I'm late," he stutters, and _fuck_ , he thought he had that back under control. One kiss from Harry and he's blushing beet-red and his tongue is, once again, not his to control. Harry says nothing about it, just squeezes Zayn a little tighter before letting him go.

He shrugs his shoulders. "'S all right, Zayn. You'll just have to play catch-up." Harry's smile is wide, dimples so deep and his eyes are shining all kinds of technicolor in the bar's mood lighting. He's dangerous. Dangerous in the way this Harry with his pretty eyes and pouty lips looks as he hands Zayn a shot. The curl of want Zayn thought he'd stamped out with Liam's return and all kicks back in as he watches Harry swallow his own down.

He can do just friends. If Liam can, than it should be no problem for Zayn.

It'll be fine.

And it is . . . mostly. They dance and they drink, staying out so late it becomes early. Zayn waves Harry off at the bakery, a warm loaf of bread under one arm and four croissants in a paper bag in the other. He's still feeling drunk and a little high from the weed they smoked at some after-party Harry's friend threw. It's Zayn's turn to wake Liam when he nearly falls into bed, landing on top of a sleeping boy who accepts the sloppy blowjob Zayn gives after crawling under the covers with a "Shhh."

It's Zayn's turn to have Harry stories then. 

His time is spent sleeping through the day or existing on fumes and espresso when he has to actually _work_. Then it's nights at either something of Harry's or an event Zayn has to cover to pay the bills. Zayn becomes a professional, ignoring the guilt that fills his gut when he's too tired to hold much of a conversation with Liam over the odd breakfast when they're both up at the same time. He becomes an expert at avoiding the the look Liam gets when Zayn smiles, answering something Harry's texted. 

The next three months become this blur of waking up to Harry on their sofa, or Harry at their table, and it's Zayn or Liam ignoring their feelings of hurt each and every time.

It should be weird. It really should be strange how easily Harry has found a place with them both. Yet it never feels that way. Zayn ignores the weeks where he's irrationally snappy when Harry is Liam's and they do things like play tennis or golf. Or even that one time they disappeared for a weekend with most of the friends Liam and Zayn share to go play bloody paintball at some farm Harry's best friend's cousin owns. Zayn stayed at home because he really wasn't in the mood to "rough it" in the forest with a bunch of testosterone-fuelled lads shooting at each other. He did, however, enjoy adding to the rainbow hues of bruises left on Liam's skin when he came home _alone_ that Sunday afternoon.

He ignores how Liam's face changes and he's _always_ staying up late when Zayn has Harry's full attention. Zayn lets Liam be that little bit more rough when they fuck. Pretends that the way Liam leaves his fingerprints all over Zayn's skin is nothing different from how they were before. Before Harry. Before their lives were together, yet never more far apart.

. . .

It all comes to a head one night when Zayn and Harry stumble through the door at a ridiculous hour, high on cheap champagne and a little weed they'd smoked before they left. There laughter rings through the front door as they bump down the hall, eager to rehash the events of the night. Liam's awake - he's _always_ awake when Harry and Zayn get in - as they fall onto the sofa beside him, legs and arms tangled with each other as Liam shuffles to make room. Zayn's cheeks ache from smiling so much and he’s laughing as they take turns telling Liam about these sculptures they’d seen made of earwax and belly button lint. Harry'd got them tickets to this little art show from a friend of a friend at the last minute. Normally Zayn likes discovering new art, loves the buzz of seeing how other artists find a voice; he's just never had anyone to go with. Liam always whined when Zayn dragged him out a few times in the early part of their relationship, ending in Zayn either giving in and going home early or not taking Liam at all. Which is nice now he has Harry to share it with. 

Zayn falls into a barely awake Liam's side at one point, kissing Liam's chapped ruby lips as Harry details how strange it was. It's almost too obvious how Liam's feeling, his body tense as Zayn tries to curl around him, tries to include Liam in his mirth. It's worse when Zayn and Harry take the mick out of the pretentious wank who some serious art critics they'd overheard had gone on about. Zayn's tongue tangles over his part of the tale, something about "the morality of post-modern takes on existentialism." When Harry helps, it's giggled into the curve of Zayn's neck from where Harry's pulled him back into his side, leaving Liam in the corner of the sofa, alone. Zayn notices. 

He can't help but notice that this time, Liam isn't laughing along. He isn't prompting them for information at all. It chills Zayn a little, freezes out the warm, swirly, happy drunk he was and has him reaching out, leaving the heat of Harry's side to find Liam's face instead. Zayn forces Liam to look him in the eyes as he squeezes Liam's cheeks together. Liam's beautiful full lips form this perfect pout as he blinks behind sleepy dark eyes. Zayn kisses him, tries to pull Liam back in through intimate touch and familiarity. He pecks these quick little brushes of his lips over Liam's, then the tip of his nose, the arch of each brow, and his lips again. He feels Liam's smile trying to pull its way out from under Zayn's hands and it makes a little of the cool of before leave his chest. 

Until Harry draws his attention again with a comment on Liam's duck-like face being quite a lot like the waitress they'd poked fun at. Botox was not exactly a friend to her trout-like mouth. That sets Zayn off with laughter again and has Liam ducking off to bed to Harry's whines to him to stay and Zayn saying nothing at all. He hasn't got the words to label how Liam's sudden distance makes him feel. Doesn't want to link it with his own emotions all the times Liam and Harry returned in the early morning with their own in-jokes.

He puts Liam out of mind and tries to get back into the conversation he was a part of with Harry before, but Harry just smiles and gets up, heading to the kitchen. He comes back with two beers in hand while Zayn's put on an old series of Doctor Who. They snuggle down on the sofa, apparently unable to sit apart. They manage an episode and a half before Zayn recognises Harry's little snores. He pulls the same comforter he was using when he slept out here over Harry, brushes back wayward curls, sticky with sweat and booze, from Harry's brow, thinking about how he'd done the same thing to Liam not too long ago. He cleans up a little, thinks it might be a help to Liam in the morning, hopes that it might be appreciated enough to calm some of the hurt he could see lining Liam's face before. 

It doesn't. Liam's quiet all the next day when Zayn wakes and Harry's left. It's a rare day when Liam and Zayn are both home together with nothing on and they'd usually make full use of it, not leaving the bed apart from food and the odd toilet break. But not today. Today Liam's reading in the armchair they never use because it doesn't fit the both of them together nicely. He barely says a word to Zayn for most of the day, and by dinner it's doing Zayn's head in. He never reacted this way when his heart ached a little from all the time Liam and Harry had on their own. He hates that he's being made to feel guilty by sharing something _he likes_ with someone who appreciates it just as much. It shouldn't be like this, what with Harry slipping into their lives in an even fashion - literary nights and art shows with Zayn, laddy sports events with Liam. Things they'd both do on their own or not at all, being something they finally having someone to share it with. 

They're eating at the table later that night - some quick and easy pasta packet thing that Zayn cooked up on the hob with added chicken and veg that Liam supervised - when Zayn can't stand the awkward tension in the air anymore.

"Harry's back on day shift tomorrow," he mumbles around a forkful of chicken, pasta, and corn.

It's there for a second - a blink and you'll miss it moment - when Liam goes to smile and then it disappears. Zayn would have missed it if he weren't looking. Liam says nothing in return, just shrugs and stabs at a piece of asparagus with so much vigour it makes a sharp sound on the bottom of the bowl.

Zayn tries again. "Guess I won't be seeing much of you again for the next few weeks, mornings being your and Harry's time and all."

Liam reacts much like Zayn thinks he will, a frown pulling those bushy brows down as he stares hard at the curls of yellow pasta in his bowl. "I don't . . . It's not my 'Harry time'." Liam's cheeks redden and Zayn feels it low in his gut, this twist deep down that he always gets when he thinks about what Harry and Liam are doing. It's how Zayn feels when he _really_ thinks about how Liam pulls away from any sort of tender touch when Zayn has tried to bridge the gap over the past week and half. 

"It's like, you know when Andy comes down and you go out clubbing for the weekend?"

Liam shakes his head; they've had this conversation before. Andy is Liam's oldest friend and he's a bit of a dick - still hasn't really accepted that Liam is with Zayn and not his college sweetheart - and has a habit of making Zayn feel like shit. In the beginning Liam had nearly forced Zayn and Andy together, hoping they'd find some sort of common ground. Who wouldn't want their best mate to be friends with their boyfriend? It didn't work. Zayn would end up retreating into himself when Andy was around, his stutter so bad he'd not be able to get a word out, not even a hello. Liam stopped asking Zayn to _try_ after a while, which wasn't the best but Liam understood it wasn't going to happen. 

"And like, when Ant comes down you sort of disappear—"

"We've talked about that," Liam interrupts, and yeah, they have at length. Zayn's known Ant and Danny since he was toddling on unsteady feet and Ant's always been overprotective of Zayn, but it takes on new meaning when it comes to Liam. It all stemmed from Zayn and Liam roughhousing once and Zayn ending up with a black eye, which Liam felt awful about. For some reason Ant never got past that. He'll stare Liam down or leave him out of conversations, and as much as Zayn's talked to Ant about it he just won't change. They'll all hang out if Ant's brother Danny comes with, because Liam and Danny have their love of boxing in common, but otherwise, no. 

Zayn puts down his fork and rests his hands in his lap as he leans back against the chair. "Liam, I'm saying it's okay."

Liam's still frowning, but he manages to lift his head when Zayn says his name. Lets Zayn gaze into those deep brown eyes, looking almost black in the low light from the green paper lantern-covered light above. He rolls his bottom lip under his teeth, stark white against the blush of dark pink, quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. 

"It's not. It's different. You can't say it's the same because they're our—" He cuts himself off and Zayn can still figure out what he was going to end with. Harry is something far more than just a friend to both of them, even if neither of them will admit it.

"Harry's different. You know he is."

Zayn says nothing - can't, what with how Zayn knows it's true. Liam hasn't kissed Andy. 

But he can't take Liam laying this on him again. He knows he was wrong to kiss Harry. Knows it was cheating on Liam even if Liam wasn't around and left Zayn with the idea that he might not actually return. It's so un-Liam-like to bring it up again, though. Liam forgives fast and easily, has never been one to hold a grudge.

"You were the one who wanted him in our lives. Y-y-you wanted to try and be friends. All of us." Zayn's voice is barely a whisper. It's hard trying to make himself heard when there's a giant lump in his throat, an ache in his chest at the could-have-beens with Harry, the never-should-haves that war against it in return.

"I know, I know. I - _fuck_ ," Liam curses, and he's out of his chair, kneeling beside Zayn, grabbing at Zayn's hand which feels so cold in the warmth of both of Liam's. 

"I . . . I have to tell you something. I have to tell you something and I should have told you when it happened the first time but I didn't and it was stupid of me. Really stupid, because it's not like it made you feel any different and it did make me feel better for a moment - but shit, ever since and—" 

Zayn presses his fingers to Liam's lips just to slow him down, because Liam's rambling and his eyes are so wide as he stares up at Zayn. Zayn just needs him to stop for a second. Just take a breath before he cracks Zayn's heart open. Before whatever he admits to - because it sounds like that’s where it's leading - splits Zayn in two.

Zayn licks his lips, wills the little moisture left in his mouth to let him speak in return or something, but Liam gets in first. Liam's long fingers circle around Zayn's wrist, lightly drag his hand back down to join the other, and there are tears gathering in the corner of Liam's eyes. It has Zayn's stomach dropping, his lungs nearly seizing up as he struggles to get a proper full breath in.

"I kissed Harry, Zayn. I kissed him to get back at you because I was so full of hurt that you could just do that with someone who wasn't me. That you could feel so much for this total stranger after all we had together. I just—" He breaks off and shakes his head, sunkissed curls shaking everywhere, casting strange shadows between them. 

"Then I was jealous. I was so jealous at how easy Harry made it look to be a part of your life. All those things you shut me out of he fit into so seamlessly and it hurt, it kept _hurting_ , kept hacking away at where I thought I could forgive you for kissing him in the first place and before that, for how you left our relationship just as much as I did, and I kissed him again. I kissed him again and it occurred to me how stupid I was for thinking it would make me feel anything like better. How could it? How could cheating on you with the same person make me feel anything better than the utter shit that I am? I'm so—"

Zayn pulls his hands from Liam's before Liam can finish his sentence. He leaves the table, the clatter of his chair falling backwards loud in the silence that fills every space between them as it falls to the floor. His heart is racing and the entire room is this blur of colour: the warm grain of the wooden table, yellow of the tablecloth, charcoal black of their plates, the fuzzy haze of cream jumper, dark denim, and honey haze of hair that surrounds Liam. Zayn can't bring it all back into focus, sees purely in this tangle of blurred edges. It feels like there's this pressure on his chest, this squeeze tight on his ribs that makes breathing impossible and he needs . . . he needs to be away from here.

He clips his shoulder hard as he nearly falls through the door into the bathroom. It's probably the worst place for him to be because everything is so white, so _white_ in here and it's blinding him, making him blink and blink, but the blur of white and green of the tile, the red and blue of the toothpaste tube still sitting with no lid on because Zayn was the last to use it, refuse to form shapes. Just this haze of colour that's making tracks down his cheeks. He can't figure out how to stop his hands from shaking just to turn the bloody tap on so he can wash his face. Swears when he knocks the little glass plate thing that Liam uses to soap up the brush he uses when he shaves, and again when it slips out of his grasp three times before he gets a good grip on it. Good enough to throw it at the door, where it shatters.

Zayn's fingers turn white where he curls them over the edge of the sink. His arms shake as he tries to keep himself upright even though he feels like falling to the floor. He's swallowing around this lump that exists in his throat now that _hurts_ but could be a good thing with the way his stomach is swirling. It's . . . it's ridiculous. It's ridiculous how he feels and how he's reacting, because this is _his_ Liam and _his_ Harry and maybe that's why it's worse? Not the fact that Liam kissed someone else and from the sound of things did it almost as a payback. Not that, not even the fact that it was Harry and they kissed more than once, which . . . well, Zayn did that too, and didn't actually tell Liam about it. Maybe it's a combination of both things, but the underlying factor to why he's now rushing to the toilet bowl only to just stare down into the water is Harry. Harry who sought Zayn out first, who kept coming back and being a part of his life and then Liam's too, and—

He should be angry with Harry. Should be the most upset at Harry for being part of this on both sides, but he's not. He's not even angry with Liam - not really. Not with how this feels like it's all Zayn's fault. He slides down to the floor beside the loo, knee clunking on the side of the porcelain which is just another addition to all the bumps he's given himself tonight. Just another piece of pain added to the puzzle that is basically his life right now. He closes his eyes and lets his head drop back against the wall, one hand on the lid of the loo after pulliing it down and the other on the tub. He's nearly squished into the space between the two but that's a good thing right now. He needs to feel small. Needs to be as insignificant as he feels.

Liam and Harry kissed. Liam kissed Harry and Harry kissed him back and that's probably the part that hurts the most of all.

Zayn closes his eyes and shuts out the kaleidoscope of colour from before. Wipes at his cheeks with the back of one hand and ignores the wetness that he rubs into his skin. He shouldn't be crying - doesn't really deserve to - not with this being partly his fault. If he hadn't kissed Harry, Liam would have just come home that day and they would have worked things out and they would have been fine. Or maybe they wouldn't have, but they wouldn't be living in this limbo place where they used Harry to make each other _feel_ something and actually show it.

"I'm not sorry." Liam's soft voice breaks into Zayn's thoughts and it’s so not what he expected that his eyes open quickly, a frown already setting on his brow.

Liam's got his hands in the pockets of his jeans, eyes trained on the floor where he's scuffing his bare feet on the edge between tile and floorboard. His curls are all loose and hanging over his forehead so Zayn can't see exactly what his expression is, whether this means an end or just something else they have to work on.

"I know it sounds awful but I'm not. I'm sorry I kept it from you, but . . . ." He pauses and Zayn pulls himself up from the floor and rests on the edge of the tub instead. Liam must take this as a sign he can enter, because he crosses the room quickly and sits down beside Zayn with just the mere hint of space between them.

It feels like there's room enough for an ocean.

Zayn's got his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, holding himself in while Liam takes his time to finish his thought before speaking.

"It's like, the first time? The first time was right in the beginning. I hated that he got to have that part of you. Any part of you. So I kissed him. He didn't kiss me back or anything. Just stepped back and said something about not being ready and I thought that meant him. Then the next time. The next time we were drunk and it was after that paintball weekend you bagged out on and it was this thing, this moment when we were both happy or whatever, and I pulled back and I stayed away because of the way it made me feel. I was more sober than I thought, or maybe it sobered me up, I don't know, but I felt that kiss for days after."

Zayn clears his throat, squeezes his arms a little tighter just trying to get the words out. Just trying to understand the way Liam had when Zayn opened up the last time. It's all he can do. All he can offer right now.

"There was more?"

He feels more than sees Liam nod. Zayn concentrates on the nearly threadbare bathmat they have in here. He's wondering why they haven't thrown it out and used the new one he and Harry'd picked out one Saturday when a cuppa and a catch-up turned into a visit to Ikea, of all places.

"Last weekend. The last weekend I had Harry before his shifts changed. We were here and watching a movie and he was curled up in his part of the sofa?" and Zayn nods at Liam's question. Knows that they both leave the end of the sofa for Harry now, one or the other of them taking turns to sit in the middle or the opposite corner. Taking turns - as always - with their Harry. "You were in the shower and Harry came in with Chinese and it was nothing, it felt like nothing to take the bags from his fingers and kiss his lips in thanks."

"You do that to me. I-I-I do that to you," Zayn finishes, because it's true. It's this thing they do - have done for years now - and even to Zayn it feels like something Liam shouldn't be apologising for. Shouldn't feel guilty about.

The other moments certainly, because one was definitely meant to hurt Zayn and the other sounds as if Liam was experimenting just as much as Zayn had in the bakery that last afternoon with Harry as just his and his alone. They were still and they were quiet. Liam's bare feet curled into the one last good part of the mat and Zayn let his arms fall to his side, fingertips curling around the lip of the tub.

He searches how he truly feels about all of this. The kissing just to prove a point. Harry having only taken charge when it comes to Zayn. Harry not really pushing Liam away, just giving him an out. It should make him angry or sad, and it does in the smallest sense but nothing like Zayn thought it would. He broke a glass, said some words, but when it comes down to it he can't _hate_ either of them. Not Harry for his part or Liam for his original deception. He can't. He can't hate Liam for doing something that Zayn's thought of far too often since Liam came home. Dreams of the cinnamon-sweet taste of Harry's lips. Of being wrapped up in that toasty warm feeling the bakery leaves on Harry's skin, fuses with his everything so he constantly smells far too tempting for his own good. This tiny ember bursting into flame low in Zayn's gut shouldn't be there either, with the mere blink of his eye giving him a visual of what Harry and Liam kissing would even begin to look like.

Like something he'd want to see while his fingers slid through Harry's curls, while his hand pressed low on Liam's spine, while his mouth sucked bruise after bruise into the cut of both of their bones in turn. He shouldn't want them both. Not like that. He shouldn't even entertain the thought.

"What does this mean, Zayn? What are you even thinking right now?" Liam asks, his voice thick, and Zayn can read the nerves in it, almost taste the anxiety right there on his tongue.

He shrugs, because he really doesn't know. Can only know one thing for sure.

"I don't know, Liam, I really don't know." Zayn shifts so his pinky brushes the side of Liam's hand and smiles - small, but a smile at least - when Liam's finger pushes back against his own.

"We'll work something out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this has expanded from the original 5 parts, it's definitely going to be 6 if not 7 with an epilogue... sorry!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for **words_unravel** because she's ALWAYS back no matter how long between updates.
> 
> (Note, this one contains roleplay with a toy and barebacking because they ARE a well established couple so we'll assume they've had the talk and have made decisions on this)

**PART FIVE**

_and you almost feel better  
but, betters no excuse for tonight _

 

It's Christmas, and they don't see Harry much because the bakery is exceptionally busy. Liam has the holiday concerts coming up and Zayn is covering a bunch of magazine things that he hates doing but the extra money at this time of year is nice. They have dinner one Wednesday and it's all three of them at a little Thai place that Liam and Zayn have been to many times before. Then it's lunch on a Sunday close to Liam's school and a few drinks the Friday before Harry heads home for the holidays. He wanted to stay to watch Liam's students performance but it was Christmas Eve and both Zayn and Liam said he was a fool to try and get home in that kind of traffic. Harry left two days before and Zayn only saw Liam because he ended up helping repaint backdrops after an incident with Santa falling through one of them occurred.

It's nice, working with Liam. They drive in together in the morning, have sandwiches and tea that one of the mothers supplies, then joke about things that happened during the day on the way home. They fall into bed together with slow touches and soft kisses and it's so much like the life they had before, that Zayn doesn't really miss having Harry around.

Much.

Harry messages often, and he calls the night of the performance, all of them talking over each other but still managing to understand three conversations going on at once. When they end the call with smiles on their faces and Liam's hand in Zayn's, it's with somewhat heavy hearts that they make their way to bed for the night. They're both quiet, and it feels like there's this bubble of _something_ building between them. They still haven't talked about what it means that they've both kissed Harry. That Harry certainly does have this strange place that fits somehow in their lives, just slots into place. They've avoided the subject completely, which has been easy considering how much time they've all spent apart. 

Yet its times like now, in the near silence of their room with nothing but their breaths uneasy between them, it feels like something they _should_ discuss. Zayn swallows down beginnings of conversations. He holds his breath every time he hears Liam breathe in extra deep, as if he's going to speak, and then nothing. They've gone through this so often now, it's like they're both waiting for the other to say something first. Then it's just silence and it's uneasy until one of them breaks, rolling into the other. It's through being close that they fall asleep with unspoken thoughts pushed to the side. For now.

The show goes well. The kids are amazing. Apart from one moment, where little Rebecca forgot her lines, breaking into tears right there on stage, sobbing until her mother picked her up and carried her off. The parent's of the little school Liam helps at all congratulate him on a job well done and they praise Zayn for the art when Liam points out that his partner saved the set design. It's so lovely to feel like the most important person in Liam's world again. Zayn can't help but lean in when Liam wraps a hand around his waist, tugging him in close. He can't help but smile and squeeze his hand over where Liam's sits on his waist, every time Liam get's another compliment from a mum or a dad or a member of staff. 

When the Head Teacher drops by to shake Liam's hand and offer her own form of praise, it's Zayn that talks up Liam's abilities. How they're near wasted on once a year concerts, private lessons and classes he teaches at the music school. Especially when he'd heard that the Head of the Music Department might be retiring this year and, wouldn't you know it? Liam does have a degree in Education alongside the Music Studies he won a scholarship for. The Head's eyes light up and she mentions talking to Liam after the holiday break. After she's gone, Liam makes their goodbyes quickly and near shoves Zayn into an unlocked classroom and kisses him breathless. 

"You're bloody amazing you are, the way you believe in me," Liam says, the only words he speaks before snogging Zayn hard up against the door yet again. Zayn smiles into it because he knows that teaching is something Liam loves and the little music school is one thing, but Liam's passion lies in building self confidence in children. Letting music guide the way they can deal with their emotions, build up their beliefs in who they are, in what they can achieve. This job opportunity could be the best thing to ever near fall in Liam's lap.

They leave eventually, because it's a bloody Primary School and its concert night and anyone could walk in - and also - it's Christmas Eve and they have a birthday party to attend. Their hands are tight in each other's as they make their way out to Liam's car. Liam smiling hard and Zayn biting down on his lip not to giggle or something more disgustingly romantic because he's not seen Liam look this _happy_ in a long while. To think that he had any part in that, in Liam's wide grin and the extra bounce in his step and the way he keeps shaking his head like he can't believe how things have turned out tonight, just lights Zayn up from the inside out.

. . .

Louis' party - as usual - is ridiculous and loud and filled with people by the time Liam and Zayn arrive. They grab a few drinks and find the birthday boy absolutely bladdered, wrapped around his girl and laughing as he detaches himself from El and throws himself at Liam and Zayn instead. He licks Zayn's cheek and pinches Liam's bum and it's not long before they're all doing shots of this awful concoction Louis' best mate Stan has made up. They end up on a sofa with Louis sat between them and Eleanor off somewhere with one of Louis' sisters. Louis has a few, and Zayn's never sure on who's who given that he knows there is a set of twins amongst them but they can't be old enough to be here yet. Then again, maybe they can.

"So," Louis says, swinging his legs over Zayn's lap and wriggling until he's got his head on the arm of the sofa, mostly on Liam's arm. "Where've you two been these last few months? Feels like a boy needs to make a booking just to keep in touch with you lot these days!" He grabs at Liams' hand, tangling their fingers together over his shoulder.

Liam shrugs and Zayn blushes and Louis' eyes get smaller as he views them each in turn. "Ooh, so you've been up to no good then! Well boys, do tell. No good keeping secrets between friends," 

Zayn looks at the ground and Liam clears his throat before he answers. "Nothing new, busy with the kids concert. Zayn's been off taking shots for Marie Claire and some foodie magazine. The usual," 

The corner of Zayn's lips curl up because it's the truth, yet with a glaringly big something - or someone - sized hole in his explanation. Liam's fingertips graze Zayn's shoulder over the back of the sofa and it's like this unspoken agreement between them that they say nothing about their Harry. Because that's what he is. Theirs. 

Louis prods his heel into Zayn's thigh, and he just smirks into the bottle of beer he's been holding, taking a long drink instead of saying anything at all.

Louis makes this whiny sound of frustration, wiggling around between them until he's comfortable. "Fine then. Well if you're not going to talk about you, lets talk about me."

. . .

The night wears on and the more they drink the more chatty they both become - which is strange on Zayn's part - but he's amongst people he's known for years. That and liquor tends to take away his slight anxiety about his stutter returning at inopportune moments. Their little moment earlier, leaving Harry out of anything has sort of faded because it feels like every second sentence is just that, about Harry.

Stan asked Liam about how he's going at the gym, hasn't seen him down there in a bit. Liam answers with the yoga he's taken up at a place across town because "Harry says it's the best for Bikram, the rooms always at the right temperature." 

Perrie corners Zayn while they're waiting in line for the loo and she's complimenting his latest work she saw at Jade's gallery, asking where he took them. Zayn lights up, telling her all about the road trip he and Harry took out to Cheshire for the day and the little river where Harry had his first kiss. He blushes beet red when he remembers how Harry reenacted that exact moment but turned his head at the last second so his lips skated over Zayn's cheek. 

Then they're both out in the small yard, sharing a smoke. Liam's got his arm wrapped around Zayn's shoulder, Zayn's hand at the small of Liam's back, fingertips slid under his trousers just so he can feel the warmth of Liam's skin. They're laughing as they swap the cigarette between them, eagerly telling a story about the night they saw Rita Ora because they'd been out with Harry at a bar. 

"Harry didn't even tell us he knew her, just dragged us along and then it was backstage with, what's his name?" Liam squeezes at Zayn's shoulder.

Zayn nods, breathing out a line of smoke, "Nick, from the radio. Harry's got us listening to the bloody Breakfast Show even though I _hate_ being up early, but. . . "

"Babe, if we had music on at that hour, Harry'd turn it onto Grimmy anyway, bloody scamp," Liam takes a long drag when Zayn swaps the fag into his hand, smiling as he breathes out. "Harry always gets what he wants when it comes to this one," 

Zayn hip checks Liam with a grin, "It isn't like you put up much of a fight when he bats those big green eyes at you, or flashes a bloody dimple,"

"He's got us both wrapped around his little finger," Liam leans in, deep coffee brown gazing at Zayn with such emotion as he brushes his lips against Zayn's. It's not much of a kiss by any means, but its sweet and it warms Zayn from his toes up, curling around his heart. It's so easy to talk about Harry like this. Like he's not Liam's or Zayn's. Like he belongs to them both. For a second, Zayn feels Harry's absence like a chill across his skin, he leans closer into Liam's side to ward it off and maybe Liam feels it too, pressing his lips to Zayn's again, a little harder.

Louis coughs and Zayn blinks, soft smile still on his lips as Liam pulls away, his hand caressing Zayn's arm, tugging him in closer. His whole side tingles and there's this undercurrent of closeness that Zayn has missed running between them. It's probably why Louis' reaction affects Zayn so much.

"So," he starts, elongating the word until it's more of a sound than anything else. It makes Zayn tear his eyes away from his shameless staring at the perfect plush rose of Liam's lips. Louis has his head tilted to the side a little, frown etched in the middle of his brow. There's something about the way he's looking between them both that has Zayn's fingertips twitching, he takes a long sip of his drink for something to do.

"Just when was it that you two became a three then? Because if I recall rightly, I offered back when we were in Uni and you both turned me down so, what's so special about your Harry? Has he got an anaconda for a dick?"

Zayn splutters on the mouthful of beer and Liam tenses up beside him with a "What the fuck, Tommo?" 

"He's n-n-n-not _o-o-o-ours_ ," Zayn can feel his face heating and fuck, his stammer is back in full force.

"He's just a mate," Liam says, his arm disappearing from Zayn's shoulders as he takes a step to the side, lighting another cigarette. The flame takes forever to flicker into life, either because the lighter's old or Liam's hands are shaking too much.

Zayn tucks his hand into the pocket of his jacket, can feel the loss of heat from touching Liam's skin like a burn across his fingertips. He looks down at the ground, hiding the hurt from Liam's reaction under the inky flop of his fringe where his quiff has lost its hold from earlier. Embarrassment - or something like it - stains his skin, he can feel the quick fire of it lighting across his cheeks, prickling at his eyes.

"Look mate, there's no judgement here. You two are old enough to do whatever you want, add a bloody monkey into the mix if it gets you hard or whatever,"

Liam chokes and coughs out Louis' name. Zayn stares even more avidly at the ground because this is as close as they've come to admitting anything about who Harry is to them. What he could be. 

Louis laughs but it's sort of unnatural, forced even. "Like I said, no judgement. Sometimes you do things to spice it up. Sometimes things happen, like a potential foursome, because it's your birthday and your girlfriend likes other girls as much as you like other boys. She might have an utterly willing, fucking hot best mate who also has a sinfully gorgeous boyfriend to make that dream come true,"

He pauses and his voice changes back to something a little more serious, "Whatever works for you, works for you. Nothing's black and white in the world of monogamy anymore lads, there's shades of grey that you'd be a fool not to take advantage of."

El's at his side then, dragging him away with a "Sorry lads, but Mel is here," and Louis' face lights up in a way that makes his last few comments seem a bit more likely to happen. 

It goes quiet between them after Louis leaves. This silence like what they've had nearly every night before they go to sleep. It feels bigger now though, with Louis and his advice of sorts. With the way they've been so comfortable talking about the way Harry has slipped into both of their lives. A part of everything, filling the space that had grown between them so now there were no lines of seperation, just blurred togetherness making three parts of a whole. 

The fact that they're here again, in this distance of things unsaid between them like they were before Liam left and Zayn found Harry, is enough to have Zayn folding in on himself again. He finishes the beer for something to do and turns to look for mewhere to put his empty when there's a hand on his wrist stopping him. He doesn't look up, can't, just lets Liam take the glass from his fingertips, depositing it mewhere behind Zayn on the windowsill behind them. 

Zayn can only stare as Liam takes their hands together, his thumbs rubbing gentle and slow over Zayn's knuckles. It's nice. It's grounding, but it doesn't completely settle all the fizz that's bubbling under the surface. Louis' words cut close to what Zayn's been piecing together on his own. This world he's begun to imagine, where they could have something, something special just the three of them. This place where Harry could fit seamlessly into their lives, become theirs more than just sometimes Zayn's or sometimes Liam's. No more jealousy, no more feeling like he was one more than the others. Just all of them. Together.

The uneven pounding in his chest settles further when Liam's forehead meets his own. This gentle touch that has the fizz dulling as Zayn pushes forward, slips his hands from Liam's only to wrap them around his waist, clasping them together at the small of Liam's back. Liam sighs, this long breath out that seems more a sound of relief than anything else. His fingertips slide under Zayn's jaw, holding his face in his big hands that feel warm and rub over Zayn's skin so delicately, it's like he's made of glass. 

"I love you," he whispers, voice deep and Zayn can see those three words and their meaning shining back in the deep coffee brown of Liam's stare. "I love you and I've missed you. Missed us."

Zayn blinks and licks his lips because this feels like it's going somewhere and he want's it to play out. Wants Liam to say it first, say aloud something they've obviously both been thinking of. 

"These past few months have been so good, _so good_. It's as if we've become the very best of us and," he takes this shaky breath in that Zayn can feel under the pads of his fingertips, squeezes Liam a little tighter to get him to go on. "and I think it's because before, before when we'd just become these people that sort of were there together, we were missing something." 

Liam stops, his eyes closing, squinting tight as he shakes his head. "I'm not saying this right. I just, before I left and before that fight it was like we were only living together, only being together because it's all we'd known and then when I came back it was different. It felt different. Like the space we'd made between us had been filled, do you. . . am I making sense at all?" He blinks back at Zayn and there's concern in his brow. This tightness to his lips and jaw that Zayn knows too well. He _knows_ Liam, maybe as well, or better, than he knows himself.

"Yeah," Zayn answers after swallowing hard. "But I think it could be more. I love you and I love what we have together. I think we could make it _better_ ," Liam smiles a little, one side of his mouth turning up slightly as he presses his lips to Zayn's forehead and leaving them there, breathing in and out slow.

"I miss Harry," Zayn stumbles out fast, not knowing entirely what reaction that admission will have from Liam. So he continues on. "I miss how we are _with_ him. I think. I think that's what you meant?"

He holds his breath for a second that seems to drag on, only to shakily let it back out when Liam makes this soft sound, dragging his lips down the side of Zayn's face only to kiss him good and proper. 

"Yes."

. . .

Liam's been pushing him for a while now and this thing they've fallen in to, it shouldn't feel as good as it does.

Yet it does.

"I keep imagining him kissing you, his lips are so soft, you know?" Liam whispers against Zayn's ear and Zayn rocks up into his touch. Fuck he's getting so hard and yeah, it's a bloody party and everyone is wankered beyond measure and they've only had a couple of beers between them but. . . 

. . .They're still in the middle of this makeshift dancefloor and anyone could see.

Liam's got his hand curled over Zayn's shoulder, the other just resting on the curve of Zayn's bum as he holds him close, dances down low and dirty. Some song is playing with this beat that has Liam's grip tight, their bodies pressed close so every drop and grind is perfect between them. 

Zayn hums beause Liam's fingertip's tracing the fast beat of Zayn's pulse on his neck. "Here," he pushes in, taps there once, twice,"I wonder what it would feel like here, here where you mark so easy," His mouth replaces his finger then and he sucks _hard_ , teeth nipping in a way that has Zayn's knees going weak for a moment. 

"You like that?" Liam asks, breath heavy and hot against Zayn's skin and Zayn can only whimper. His grip on Liam's hips tighten under Liam's shirt, he can tell he'll be leaving half moon crescent marks of his own. 

Liam kisses him hard again, fits their legs together a little better and _fuck_ Zayn's so hard and Liam's right there with him. This press of his length brushing against Zayn's hip bone when they move the right way. Liam moves the right way a lot.

He bites at Zayn's lip and it stings but Liam's eyes are so dark, so black they're almost without colour as he brushes the tip of his nose along Zayns cheek. "Would you do that? Would you let him mark you up? Let us," Zayn shudders as Liam's lips curl around the lobe of his ear, tugging light on the black onyx stud that Liam bought him for his birthday the year before. It sends this spark straight down to Zayn's middle, stiffens his cock even more. 

They really shouldn't be doing this here, yet when Liam got Zayn on the dancefloor and started muttering these delicious filthy things in Zayns ear. . . Zayn didn't want him to stop.

"Would you let both of us do that? Harry's mouth on your chest, purple marks on your belly. God, his tongue. . . his tongue soothing the burn from my beard on your thighs," Liam pulls Zayn's arse in and they might as well be fucking on the dancefloor for the show they're putting on right now. Zayn can feel a wetpatch growing in his pants and he doesn't want Liam to stop but he certainly wants more and naked and now.

"Home," he gets out while Liam's basically fucking him through their clothes to the sounds of old school Justin Timberlake rapping about being naked at the end of the song. "Fuck, Liam, take me _home_." Liam drops his head to Zayn's shoulder, squeezes Zayn's arse once only to grab at Zayn's hand, threading their fingers together, tugging him out the door. 

They don't say anything and Zayn doesn't bother to look or care if anyone notices the bulges that are definitely aparant in both their trousers as they make their way outside. There are people lining the front stairs, but Liam - ever the polite in all situations - apologises as he pulls them both through the fray and to the car. He tugs Zayn forward when they get there, Zayn's back meeting the door hard but he forgets about the pain from it when Liam's pressed against his front, kissing his lips raw. 

He's got Zayn caged in, hands on either side of Zayn's head as Zayn spreads his thighs, grabs at Liam's belt and drags him in. He wants. . . he wants Liam _so much_ and he doesn't want him to stop talking about what Harry and Liam could do. What Liam obviously wants them to, has been thinking about because no one says things like Liam's been saying on the dancefloor without at least giving it a moments thought. 

And it's fine. Fine, because Zayn's been thinking about it, too. About how good Liam's lips would look, all plush and pillowy on Harry's tip, then stretched white and thin as he sucked Harry down. How well they'd fit together, Harry having that extra bit of height that would mean Liam would have to lean up a bit to kiss him, just like Zayn has always done with Liam. How entangled they'd both become if Harry was on the bottom, ridiculously long arms and legs wrapped around their boy as Liam fucked into him hard and Zayn got off on watching, waiting until his turn.

"Gonna fuck you when we get home, gonna fuck you like Harry's there watching. Gonna make you come with his name on your lips and the taste of you both on my tongue."

Zayn whimpers and pushes at Liam, has to get some distance because he's going to come in his pants from the thought alone. 

Liam looks a little confused, his lips. . . his _lips_ bruised and almost bee stung red from all their kissing. This already darkening mark around his birthmark that Zayn gave him before, his chest rising and falling fast and they _need_ to get home.

"Get in the car before we get arrested for indecent exposure you numpty," Zayn says and Liam grins, adjusts himself in his pants with a groan as he skips around the other side of the car. The beep of the car unlocking is barely able to be heard above their shared laughter.

. . .

They keep their hands mostly to themselves on the drive back. Zayn can't keep staring at Liam's profile. Watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows more than normal, pink tongue wetting his lips over and over. When they finally turn the corner to their street, Zayn gets his hand on Liam's thigh, creeps up to where the swell of Liam's cock hasn't gone down by much at all. He squeezes and the car swerves a little and they both laugh, this breathless _sound_ and Liam pushes him off as he gets the car parked. 

He doesn't wait to see if Liam's following when he gets out, only remembers Liam's got the keys when he gets to the door. Liam's right behind him though, fitting his body to Zayn's back as he reaches around to unlock the door. His breath hot and heavy against Zayn's neck until they fall inside. Zayn turns, lets his jacket fall from his shoulders, kicks off his shoes and tugs at his socks as Liam finishes with the door. They left the hall light on when earlier, which is good because Zayn can see the obscene tenting in Liam's pants as he pulls the navy cashmere sweater over the back of his head. All the hard work Liam and Harry get up to down at the gym comes into view, his stomach obscene with muscles only highlighted from the warm glow from above. 

He's just so _fit_ and he's looking at Zayn, stepping closer and closer as his fingers grapple with his belt. Zayn starts backing up himself, loosening his fly and shimmying out of his trousers a second before Liam does. Liam gets his hands on Zayn's shirt, tugs it up and up until Zayn has to raise his arms above his head, Liam near ripping the thing off. They stand their looking at each other after that, breathing hard. They're virtually naked now, apart from the soft grey jersey of Liam's pants and the worn red silk of Zayn's own. 

It's like they're waiting for something. This pregnant pause lying between them, eyes locked and Zayn whimpers. It's all it takes because then Liam's stepping in, holding Zayn's face in his hands, his lips a searing press on Zayn's own as he shoves them back down the hall toward their bedroom. Zayn's mind near goes blank with all the touch and feel and _want_ as he lets Liam guide the way. Let's Liam take over once more, as his fingertips slide over every bare inch of Liam's warm, tan skin. It's not long before they reach their room, Liam pausing only when the back of Zayn's legs hit the bottom of the bed. 

Liam turns Zayn, strong hands on his shoulders, sweeping down the length of his back as Liam's mouth follows over every knob on Zayn's spine. Zayn can't even make a sound, so overwhelmed by this heady rush of how fast things have escalated tonight. Just from them both finally admitting what they want, what will possibly glue them back together even better than before. Zayn reaches forward and near tears the duvet off and onto the floor, the dark navy of their sheets a mess under the hastily drawn up blanket earlier that morning. He hears Liam snort, because if it were Liam there would have been hospital corners but he was up earlier than Zayn. That meant it was Zayn's job and he isn't a huge believer in making something he's only going to slide into later. 

Zayn loses his balance a little when Liam gets a grip on the elastic at Zayn's waist, Liam making quick work of ridding the last piece of material between them. Zayn shivers as Liam's hands grab at the meat of Zayn's arse, a tight squeeze and then his teeth a hard press and Zayn _does_ fall forward then. Scampers up the bed until he's got his back against the headboard, cock slapping against his stomach as he goes. He's so fucking hard and he can't help but wrap his hand around the base of his dick as he watches Liam step out of his own pants, struggling to climb onto the bed before he's even got them off his feet properly. Liam's mouth hangs open a little as he crawls up closer, gets a hand on Zayn's ankle and _pulls_ so Zayn slides down, head bumping up against the pillows.

Liam gets up and over Zayn's body, sits himself on Zayn's thighs as he leans in close. He kisses Zayn with an open mouth, tongues sliding against each other in ways that remind Zayn of how _good_ they are when they're together. Zayn gets his hands on Liam's chest, runs his fingers through the smattering of hair there, and down until he can fit his palms to the cut of Liam's hips, grips hard just for something to hold onto. Liam's hips keep shifting forward and their cocks brush, not every time, but enough for Zayn to whine, needy and high in his throat, hoping Liam will give him more and soon. 

Zayn's just about to take matters into his own hands, when a frown forms on Liam's brow. He sits up, and Zayn's hands slide down the thick meat of Liam's thighs as Liam's face changes into this knowing smirk.

"What's this then?" Liam asks, and Zayn stops staring at Liam long enough to see what he's got wrapped around one hand. The frayed ends brush against Zayn's stomach and it has gooseflesh peppering his skin. 

"How'd Harry's scarf get in our bed? Under the pillows of all things?" There's this rough edge to Liam's tone and it reminds Zayn of all the things he was whispering into Zayn's ear back at Louis' party. Of all the things that Liam said he would do, he would have Harry do.

Zayn swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry as he feels heat sear across his cheeks. "The last time we had lunch, all three of us. After you left early, Harry wrapped it around my neck, said I looked too cold. I guess I forgot to give it back, just threw it on the bed when I got home."

Zayn doesn't mention how he's actually had it inside his pillowcase these past few days. Doesn't mention that he likes to press his nose into the spot he knows where it's located, just to smell that familiar cinnamon spice scent that he can only associate with Harry. 

Liam doesn't say anything, just nods and hums, eyes focused on the soft material in his hand. "Lots of things you could do with a scarf like this. Lots of things Harry and I could do to you if you were. . ." he cuts himself off with a shaky breath. "We could. . . we could tie you up?" Liam runs the length of Harry's rich burgundy scarf between his fingers, deep in thought. 

Zayn bites at his bottom lip, a moan escaping from deep in his throat.

Liam's eyes widen, brow lifting as he leans forward, clutching at Zayn's wrists and raising them above his head. "You like that, yeah? Us tying you up, no way for you to touch as we took our fill?" 

Zayn's hips buck up and he moans again, nodding fast as Liam's breath gets heavy, mouth open slightly so Zayn can hear every harsh intake and ragged release.

Liam's tongue slips out, wetting his lips as he leans up, tying Zayn's hands to the wooden slats of the bed head loosely. Zayn knows he could get out of this if he wanted. Liam would never hurt him. He curls his fingers tight around the soft wool of the scarf and holds on. Liam's eyes are so dark and his body a solid weight on Zayn's thighs, pinning him down. He wants everything Liam's talking about, want's everything that Liam's whispered in hot breaths against his skin tonight. Everything that Liam's not even thought of.

"Oh, Jesus," Liam murmurs after sitting back, looking at Zayn with a fire in his eyes so real that Zayn could almost trace the heat of his gaze. He ducks in fast, near biting at Zayn's lips as he kisses him hard and fast and Zayn strains a little against his restraints, pushing up an in to taste more of this new Liam he's never seen before.

Zayn whines when Liam pulls back, sits himself up again and traces a finger from Zayn's wrist and down his inner arm. It tickles a little but Zayn is so fucking turned on right now it's more pleasurable than anything else.

"Could you take us both?" He asks, like he's asking Zayn whether he wants to order in for dinner and Zayn can only make this sound because he does, he _wants_ that. Wants whatever Liam is offering. 

Liam slips his hand between them, wraps his fingers in a loose circle around Zayn's cock and Zayn has to concentrate on not bucking up too hard and knocking Liam off. He's basically been untouched since they were grinding against each other at Louis' party, but he's so hard it's like any attention from Liam is too much. Too much but nowhere near enough.

He stops and Zayn whines, but it cuts into nothing when he watches Liam lick his hand from palm to fingertip only to stroke Zayn, slicker and better than before. Zayn's skin feels too tight for his body with every touch and he can see how all of this is effecting Liam. His cock sitting up flushed dark and rosy at the tip, his foreskin pulled taut. There's this clear bubble of precome at the slit and Zayn can only grip at his restraints harder, whimper a version of Liam's name because he wants to _taste_ and he can't. The realisation that he's completely under Liam's control punches through his chest and he has to close his eyes for a moment, letting it all sink in.

Liam must realise that something has changed because he's right there seconds after Zayn's eyes fluttered shut. Zayn can smell earthy cologne, bitter ash of the smoke they shared and the sweet almost raisin-like taste of the bourbon Liam had drunk the moment they'd walked in Louis door. Then Liam kisses him deep, tongue sliding slick and hot in Zayn's mouth only adding to the fire in Zayn's gut, this ache for more and he's fairly certain Liam's going to give him everything. 

Zayn tries to follow when Liam breaks away, leans up and gets caught on where his hands are tied, this delicious strain in his shoulders and it reminds him of Harry. Makes him wonder for a second what Harry would think to see Zayn like this. Zayn so utterly and completely at both his boys mercy.

And Liam seems to be on the same page.

"What would Harry do, hmm?" he asks, fingertips tip tapping over Zayn's bottom lip, and Zayn doesn't hesitate to stick out his tongue, tasting the salt of Liam's skin. "Your mouth, Zayn," he moans rocking forward, his next upstroke on Zayn's cock a little firmer than before. 

"Would you let him fuck your mouth? Show him how good you are? How good you can be for both of us?"

It's like something clicks inside Zayn then, this shift and lock into place of what Liam's asking him. What Liam is voicing without hesitation - almost premeditated thought - and Zayn wants it. He wants Liam and Harry both. Even though this is fantasy and slightly inebriated wild dirty talk, it's more truth spoken between them than anything else before. 

Zayn doesn't want Liam to stop. 

The scarf near bites into the thin skin at his wrists, forcing the blood pumping there to slow as he sucks Liam's fingertips into his mouth. His tongue presses against the underside up to the first knuckle like he would do with a cock. Like he would do to Harry's. Zayn moans at the thought of Harry's dick taking Liam's fingers place. No calloused pads from fretwork placement, or that scar on Liam's index finger from where he cut it open on a tin when he was nine. No, this would be smooth, soft skin tasting like boy and musk and _Harry_ and Zayn wants it so much. He can begin to imagine what it would feel like on his tongue. Liam presses in and down and Zayn thinks about Harry fucking his throat, pushing in and in until Zayn's choking on it. Until all he knows is Harry and Liam and pleasure and nothing else. 

"Please," he whines around Liam's fingers. " _please!_ " he gasps as Liam curses, stroking Zayn's cock again, almost an afterthought. 

"You should see your lips," Liam whispers, voice near reverential as he looks down at Zayn with intent. Eyes so black, he's like a shark and Zayn sucks harder, needs more. 

"You'd take us like this, wouldn't you?" Liam's asks, but it's more of an acknowledgement, now. 

Zayn sucks harder, swirls his tongue in the patterns that he knows Liam loves to feel on his dick. Liam grunts, hips shifting of their own accord and the he's pulling out and sliding off the bed leaving Zayn out of breath and so, _so_ turned on. 

Zayn's gasping for air, the muscles in his stomach tense, every hair on his body near standing on end from anticipation. Zayn knows what drawer Liam's in. Knows what they keep in there and haven't used in a long time. Not since Zayn was on a shoot in Casablanca for this rock band at least a good year ago. When all they had was Skype and their hands and then Liam brought out an innocent looking paper bag one night and well.

It isn't a huge dildo by any means, it isn't even sparkly or colourful or anything. Just this six inch 'flesh' coloured thing with veins, balls, a suction cup on the base. Liam had rode it and Zayn had come so hard from just _watching_ that he saw stars. It became an important feature whenever Zayn worked away back then, but he hadn't gone on long shoots in a while. Then everything had fallen apart and now it was coming back together but with these added parts. Added Harry shaped parts, really.

He lies the soft latex on Zayn's stomach, his hand leaving Zayn's cock and he whines at the loss of touch. Liam's licking at his lips and they're so red, so plump that Zayn can't stop staring. He does though, his eyes flicking down to Liam's hands where he's pumping some lube onto his fingertips. Zayn's cock is rubbing against his stomach with every sharp breath he takes, smearing precome all over. Liam rises up on his knees, his hand disappearing behind him and Zayn knows by the way Liam's breathing changes, sharp and held for longer, that he's opening himself up. He doesn't usually do that, it's a thing that Zayn loves to do himself. Prepping Liam long and slow with his fingers or tongue or both until Liam's near begging for Zayn to stop and fuck him already. 

Zayn's fingers curl and straighten over his bonds as Liam starts making filthy sounds, head dropped to his chest as he gets into it. Zayn itches to touch, to do _anything_ , but he can't and it makes him want all the more. Liam's chest is shining in the low light, sweat trickling down through the curls of hair Zayn loves to play with when they're snuggled against each other in the warm aftermath, or when they're waking slow in the morning. His tongue feels heavy and too big in his mouth, there's all these parts of Liam he wants to taste right now and his shoulders are starting to ache but he won't ask to be freed. He won't ask because Liam obviously has a plan and Zayn wants to see it through. Wants to see how far into this fantasy Liam has figured out. 

"Show me. Show me how you'd take us," he stops talking then, sighing a little as he shifts forward and oh _fuck_ Zayn's possibly going to die he's so turned on. "Show me how good you'd be for both of us,"

Zayn whines, "Yes," the scarf rubbing harsh against his wrists. He doesn't even care that he's a maybe in this, the idea alone is likely to set him off.

Liam's eyes are so dark as he leans in and kisses Zayn fierce and hard and bruising. His lashes flutter closed as he gets a good grip on the base of Zayn's cock and Zayn has to do everything not to come then and there. Because he wants this. . . he wants the fantasy. He wants Liam to get off and he wants to pretend like Harry's here with them and that he can only come when they've all finished. When they've used him up until it's finally his turn. 

Zayn curses as Liam sinks down slow and steady, his cock enveloped in tight heat that squeezes him all around. Liam is usually the one fucking Zayn, but sometimes it's the opposite. Sometimes, Liam wants it and Zayn will happily do whatever it is that Liam needs. When Liam's finally settled, his whole body shudders and Zayn can feel it in his bones how hard it is for Liam to pause right now. When he gets like this, when he takes Zayn like this, he doesn't muck around. He takes what he wants and Zayn lets him. 

"Your mouth, babe, gonna suck him like you mean it." Liam's picked up the dildo and is holding it in front of Zayn now. Zayn can smell the latex and the fakeness of it all, but if he tries really hard, _really_ hard, he can imagine the scent of Harry's skin. The way Harry tastes like boy and bread and spice when Zayn's tongue has touched the soft skin at Harry's neck. He can pretend it's Harry he's breathing in as he opens his mouth wide and Liam sets the fake cock on his tongue. 

Liam's gaze is focused as Zayn makes a show of sucking on the head. He licks all around, as far as his tongue will stretch, saliva already building in his mouth making these harsh wet sounds as Liam slips the cock in further. Zayn's breathing sounds harsh through his nose as he concentrates on making a good show for Liam. Showing Liam how much he wants this. Wants to be good for Liam. Good at this. Liam lets out this low groan and Zayn can feel him start to move. He looks up and Liam's got his head thrown back, one hand sliding over his chest and down to where his cock is. He grips himself in a loose fist as he rolls his hips, fucking himself on Zayn deep, hardly lifting up at all. 

Zayn must make a sound louder than he thought, because Liam's eyes snap open, focusing on Zayn once more as he pulses the fake cock in and out of Zayn's mouth. Fucking him like Zayn loves, hitting the back of his throat and making Zayn's eyes water. His jaw already aches, the corner of his lips feel like they're stretched too thin, too tight but he swallows as best he can. Licks and sucks like it's really Harry here. Like he has Harry in his mouth and Liam using his cock and both of them taking from Zayn, taking everything he has to offer. 

"Look so good, look so fucking good," Liam mutters as he works himself on Zayn's dick faster, pushes the dildo into Zayn's mouth, gagging Zayn to the point that tears are rolling down his cheeks. It doesn't matter though, he likes it. Likes that he's making Liam happy. Like's that Liam is telling him how good he is. Likes to think that Harry would do the same.

Liam groans, "Harry'd fucking love this. He'd love your mouth. Love watching you. Watching us," Zayn sucks harder, tongues at the fake cock like he would if it were Harry instead. The plastic is making these obscene sounds as Liam fucks his face. He's never been so turned on in his life, it's like he's drifting in this haze of lust and want and he doesn't want it to end, though he knows Liam is close. He can hear it in the sounds Liam's making, feel it in how Liam's clenching around him, see it in how jerkily Liam's arm is moving, stripping himself off fast, Zayn can tell. 

Zayn gets it though. He feels on edge himself. His arms ache and his wrists are definitely goint to have marks from where he's pulled forward against the scarf. His lips feel all rubbery and Liam keeps fucking in deep with the dildo so it hits the back of Zayns throat everytime. His whole body tingles with that anticipatory feeling before he comes, his body like a guitar string strung too tight, and with one pluck in the right place he'll be broken in two. 

"Gonna come, Zayn. You're gonna make me come so hard," Liam says through these grunts and he's near shaking he's so close. Zayn can feel the tell tale muscles flutter around his cock and he may just drag Zayn over the edge with him if he keeps this up. Liam's given up on thrusting the toy in Zayn's mouth now, it's just sitting there so Zayn can suck at the head. 

Liam's making this low whine now and he's hardly moving, and Zayn knows that sound, knows that Liam needs a little more. He draws his legs up as best he can, raises his knees and plants his feet and starts fucking up into Liam like he knows Liam needs. Liam's eyes roll back as his head drops, lolling to one side. His fist is a blur at the head of his prick and Zayn grabs hold of the scarf and holds on, focuses on Liam. Liam drops the fake cock to the bed with this low groan, his hand landing on Zayn's chest where he's near holding himself up. There both so close, _so close_.

"Think Harry'd blow you, think he'd suck you off while I filled you up? Think he'd take you in his mouth after I let him fuck my throat?" Zayn says and his voice is utterly shot from what Liam was doing before. He's barely croaking out the words but its enough. It's enough to have Liam's back bowing in this tense line as he tightens around Zayn. Hot stripes of come land on Zayns stomach and chest as these harsh sounds punch their way from Liam's chest. He curls in on himself when he's finished, his hand still moving slow over his cock and Zayn thrusts up harder now he knows Liam's got off. 

He's so close and his shoulders leave the bed, his hands tugging against their restraints as he shoots off inside Liam. He feels like he comes for an age before it stops, his hips still snapping slowly up like he's forgotten what else they can do apart from that. Eventually, Liam stills him with a hand on his hip, pulling himself off with a wince as Zayn's cock slips out. He reaches up and unties the scarf at Zayns wrists, rubbing his large hands warm and soft over Zayn's aching muscles. Zayn still can't breathe properly, can hardly get air in and out he's so utterly overwhelmed. He's never. . it's never been like that before. Never been so good between them.

Liam presses his lips to each of Zayns wrists before he disappears on shaky legs out of the bedroom. Zayn lays there with his eyes closed as he hears Liam cleaning himself up. Flinches only the slightest when Liam returns, washcloth at the ready to wipe over Zayn, too. He finally settles, curling up beside Zayn with his head on Zayn's chest. Zayn wraps an arm around Liam, his hand settling on his shoulder as Liam takes the other on Zayn's stomach, flipping it over so he can draw on Zayn's palm. 

They're quiet for a long time. So much so, that Zayn's imagined that Liam's already asleep or headed that way much like Zayn is himself. He's just so utterly blissed out, it's possible his bones have completely melted away and he's just a puddle of fucked out joy on the bed right now.

"That was . . ." Liam leads off and Zayn brushes his fingertips through Liam's hair, imagines Liam purring if he were a cat with the way he shifts into Zayn's touch. Rubs his nose against Zayn's chest as Zayn's fingernails scratch light over Liam's scalp.

"That was _hot_ is what it was," Zayn says, his voice sounding as utterly fucked out and raw as he feels. Liam chuckles, rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin at Zayn's wrist and his cock twitches almost painfully from the memory of being tied up alone. 

"Very, very hot." Liam answers, his lips a hot press against Zayn's sweat sheened skin. 

. . .

They don't talk about it being a one off. They don't talk about if it was weird or how hot Zayn found it to even consider having Harry in their lives like that. 

They _do_ talk about Harry joining them in bed more often than not. Liam or sometimes Zayn starting them off. Liam's two fingers alongside Zayn's cock, filthy words about Zayn taking them both proper falling from his mouth. Liam wanking them both off while Zayn taps at the new plug they bought together that's deep inside Liam's arse. Zayn getting Liam off over the phone with words alone while he nips off to Spain for three days and Harry's still off with his family.

They talk about it when they're getting each other off, but other than that. . . they don't talk about it at all.

That sort of ends though, the moment Harry gets home.


End file.
